The Years That Passed
by BlinkingAngel
Summary: What would have happened if Cas never saved Dean from Hell? AU Demon!Dean. T for language and violence. I'm bad at descriptions.
1. Don't You Cry No More

Seven years.

Sam Winchester didn't go to church often. Not actually. Sure, many a monster has chosen to hunt or haunt or what have you in a Holy House, but that was different. No, today, Sam was here to mourn.

Seven years.

Sam had given up any hope he may have had long ago. Of course, he'd gone down every strange, dark, sketchy, and crazy path he could dig up, but once he passed the three year marker, he'd concluded that it was impossible.

Dean Winchester died seven years ago today, and there's nothing poor, lonely, broken Sammy can do.

He stopped at some roadside church on his way through Illinois. It was a sad, dilapidated old place with dirty, broken windows, six short pews, an altar, and a good-sized wooden cross leaning against the far wall.

The place was long since abandoned, but he decided to go in anyway. This had been his tradition for the past seven years. He'd drop whatever he was doing to go to church. At first, it was to pray to anyone who'd listen. Beg for someone, anyone, to please _please_ bring his brother back. The problem was that either no one could hear him or no one cared, so this quickly turned into a time for mourning. Now, as he had the past few years, Sam sat in an empty pew, rest his weary head on clasped hands, and quietly wept.

This particular church was notably empty when he got there, so run down that most wouldn't even notice it. So, Sam was justifiably surprised when he heard an all-too-familiar voice from the direction of the door:

"Come on now, Sammy. Of all things, I didn't expect you to go soft."

**A/N: Hi all! Yes, it's very short. I believe in short teasers. This is my first attempt at Supernatural fan fiction, and this little (big) plot bunny hopped into my head, so I thought, why not share? Please review! Next chapter coming soon!**


	2. Look What I've Become

Sam's eyes snapped open. He carefully pulled out Dean's old handgun, stood, and turned, prepared for the worst.

However, he could never have been prepared for what he saw.

Leaning against the doorframe, not quite inside the church, wearing a uniform of blue jeans, a brown leather jacket, and a smug grin, was none other than Dean Winchester.

Sam was rendered speechless. His mind was racing: ghost, shifter, demon, trickster. Even acknowledging the probable danger right in front of him, Sam lowered the gun.

"What, are you just going to stand there gaping, or are you going to come say hi?" Dean asked, nonchalantly dusting his sleeves. Sam slowly advanced, taking stock of the weapons he had on him. The gun in his hands, the silver knife in his jacket, and the demon killing knife in his right boot. He'd left everything else in the car: holy water and salt included. By now they were about three paces apart, Dean hadn't budged.

Before Sam could attack him, Dean held up a hand, "I got it." He pulled out his own knife, verrivied that it was silver, and gave himself a cut on his arm. He then pulled out a flask and splashed some water on his face. He gave a little shrug and an eyebrow raise while closing the flask and stepping further back into the sun.

Sam's face softened, speculation gone. "Dean," he whispered hoarsely. He quickly closed the gap between them and hugged his brother, patting his back to make sure he was real, squinting away the last of his tears.

He pulled back, "you're... here," he managed, "you're alive! How... How are you alive? I mean, you... you went to hell, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned and dropped his head, as if in a fond memory, "but I'm finally out. It's good to see you, Sammy. How long was I down there anyway?"

"Seven years today. How did you get out?"

Dean shook his head at this. "Seven years." He mumbled with a smile and a laugh, he seemed to be finding the whole thing very amusing. "Seven years of hell. Time does fly." Sam noticed a strange gleam in Dean's eyes when he looked up.

With a nervous chuckle, Sam remarked, "well, it didn't exactly fly up here. It's been hard without you, Dean."

Another laugh. "Not up here. Time is so much slower up here! I would have _killed_ to be in hell for only seven years." Dean had started to sound less amused and more manic.

"Dean, how long were you down there?" Sam asked warily. He started slowly backing towards the impala, realizing that this was not normal. Something was off about his brother. Dean followed while still speaking, sounding more and more angry. "You were up here having a grand old time for seven short years. Do you want to know how long I was there? How long I was in Hell?" He stopped advancing when Sam got near the car. He could see the growing fear in his brother's eyes, could smell it on his sweat. "Time passes pretty different downstairs. When I finally clawed my way out, I had been there for, wait for it, _nine hundred years_." He emphasized each word with a wag of his finger.

At this, Sam stopped, his eyes widened, mouth slightly open in surprise.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and started to slowly and casually pace back and forth. He took a deep breath and looked up to the relatively clear sky. He looked to be calming himself. After a pause, he continued pacing and talking. "Hell, man. It does some crazy things to ya. The first four hundred years or so, it was all 'why me' and 'poor Sammy's all alone'. But after a while, I felt almost like I _belonged_ there. It was almost bearable, the fire, the blood, the screams. I think that somewhere around seven hundred years, I just stopped caring, stopped feeling. I started to think, 'hey, maybe it's not so bad down here'. And, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "I'm gone. Well, it was strange. Nothing about it changed, but I wasn't really _me_ anymore." He paused to look at Sam, who was pressed up against the impala, looking increasingly worried. Dean continued with his speech, now staring at his brother. "You learn the funniest things, you know? For instance, did you know that demons are made from tortured souls. Every demon was a human, but they were sent to hell and," he snapped his fingers, "finally snapped. Nine hundred years, Sammy. That's a lot of time. Nine hundred years down there will do a hell of a lot to someone's sanity." Dean stepped forward until he was just out of reach.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but," he deliberately blinked to reveal, to Sam's horror, two pitch black orbs, "I'm pretty sure that I'm not human anymore."

**A/N: I'm sorry! Please review anyway? I love you all.**


	3. Dean Winchester Returns

Sam reacted quickly. While Dean was talking, he'd been trying to get to the the impala. The second he saw Dean's eyes, Sam dove for the flask in the passenger seat and threw some of his own holy water in Dean's face. It steamed and sizzled as Dean stumbled back in pain. Sam pulled the knife out of his boot and held it in defense as Dean recovered.

"Gah, that burns! What the hell, Sam?"

"You're not Dean," he said through clenched teeth, "so who are you?"

Dean recovered from the water and stepped back upon seeing the knife, hands protectively in front of him, "woah okay, let's not do anything crazy."

"You've got a lot of nerve tracking me down, looking like that. Why shouldn't I just kill you now?"

"Sam, come on. It really is me."

Sam gave a warning wave of the knife, "No! Dean's dead, and he's not coming back."

Some amount of guilt and sadness emerged in Dean's eyes. "I told you the truth. I'm no happier about it than you, but I'm _back_. Please. I crawled out of _hell_ to come see you again. Give me a break here."

Sam really wanted to believe him, but his whole being was telling him not to. It sounded like Dean. Acted like him. But it just couldn't be.

"You know I'm telling the truth. You of all people. And hey, I'm not your first friendly demon, right?"

"Ruby tried to trick me into starting the apocalypse, so I killed her. In my experience, demons aren't exactly trustworthy."

"Well then. Told you she was trouble."

Sam took a cautionary step forward. "Why should I believe you?"

"You're alive because of me! I sold my soul to save you, Sam! Apparently, this," he gestured to himself, eyes again flashing black, "is what happens when you sell your soul."

Sam lowered the knife a bit, still refusing to let down his guard entirely. Dean, a demon. He'd come across some demon lore that matched what he'd said, that demons were made from people in hell. It was just hard to believe that it could happen to Dean. "Alright," he said warily.

"Great. Now can you _please_ drop the knife?" Sam stashed the knife back in his boot and Dean settled into his usual demeanor. "Thank you."

"But I don't get it, why didn't the holy water burn you before?"

"Just water. I needed you to trust me so I could talk to you first."

Sam nodded, staring at the ground and trying to wrap his mind around the whole situation. "And why do you still... look like you?"

"Well I wasn't just going to hop into someone off the street, I've seen what that does to a person. Took me a while to find my body. A little macabre when I did, but a little elbow grease and I'm good as new. I couldn't just give this up. I mean look at me," he spread out his arms with a smug smile, "I'm gorgeous."

Sam shook his head with a small smile at how little Dean had changed. "Yeah, you're Dean, alright." He finally gave up his defensive stance.

Dean walked over to lean on the hood of the car. "And sorry for going a little overkill," he gave a small chuckle, "you're kind of the first person I've talked to for a while that didn't just want to gut me for fun."

Sam pulled two beers out of the trunk, handed one to Dean, and leaned on the car next to him like so many times before. Dean took the bottle and just looked at it fondly for a while before opening it and taking a sip. "So what've you been up to? Working on anything right now?"

Sam sighed and looked away for a bit before responding. "It's great to see you, Dean, it really is. It's great that you're here. But you know, you've been officially dead for seven years. I mean, any hunter sees you, they're not going to just let you go. They'll want the same tests: salt, silver, holy water, the works, and when you don't pass, they won't give you the benefit of the doubt. You go back out on the field, you're as good as dead. Again."

Dean took another sip, savoring it. "I know. Fooled you for a bit though, didn't I? I'll run the tests myself, like I did with you." he pulled his water flask and a salt container from his jacket. He poured some white granules that sure as hell looked like salt into his hand. "Regular water and sugar. No one needs to know, no one will be able to tell. Come on Sammy, I didn't spend twenty years climbing back up here just to hide out. I want to get back to work. We don't even meet that many hunters anyway."

"I guess. What about demons? The bad ones?"

"I picked up a few new tricks. And a new tattoo." He pulled his shirt collar to the side to reveal new black ink in place of the old, a possession lock. "Exorcisms won't be a problem. I've thought it all out. I can handle this. And hey, it can't hurt to have a good demon on the team for once."

Sam slowly shook his head, "I don't know, it just doesn't feel right."

"Hey, I'm not expecting you to completely trust me. I'm not stupid. I'm just saying, we could try it out. See if I can earn that trust back. Go on a few hunts, for old time's sake."

Sam thought about this for a bit. There would definitely be obstacles, but Dean did put up a good argument. "Sure," he said finally, "for old time's sake." He lifted his bottle to Dean, who immediately tapped it with his own. They both drank and in that moment, it was as if everything was back to normal.


	4. On The Road Again

They sat like that in silence for a while. When it started to get late, Sam moved to leave. He tiredly slumped into the driver's seat.

Dean, on the other hand, was unable to get in the car without first stroking its frame and making sure there wasn't so much as a scratch on it, murmuring to it all the while. "Hey, baby. I'm back. It's good to see you. Sammy didn't hurt you, did he?"

About five minutes later, Dean settled into the leather seat, looking like a kid in a candy store.

"Are you ready to go, or do you want me to give you two some time alone?"

"Aww, don't pay attention to him, baby." He said quietly, stroking the dashboard. Then, to Sam, "alright, let's go." Sam twisted the key and pulled away from the church, some easy-listening station playing through the speakers. Dean shot Sam a look, "really, dude?" He quickly turned to a classic rock station.

Seeming pleased, he finally settled in. "So, where are we going, anyway? What state are we even in?"

Sam gave him a confused glance, "Illinois. How did you find me if you don't even know where we are?"

"I told you, picked up some new tricks." With that, Dean disappeared. Sam jumped a bit and looked around. Not five seconds later, he reappeared in his seat with a burger. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah, cool. You should probably tone it down with the demon stuff. We don't want to draw any unwanted attention."

Dean, unconcerned, started on the burger. "Whatever, so, what's in Illinois?"

"Headed to a town called Huntley, there's been a bunch of cattle mutilations, missing livestock, missing pets. No missing persons reports yet, but I'm afraid that whatever this is is working its way up."

"Think something's getting hungry?"

"That's what it looks like. Who knows, it may have a taste for humans pretty soon."

"I say that's a good place to start." Dean sighed and smiled. "Back on the job. It feels good."

* * *

It took them about an hour to get to Huntley. It was a blink-and-you-miss-it town smack in the middle of a bunch of cornfields and farms. A little town square-like patch of grass littered with memorial benches, sculptures, and a gazebo was surrounded by small shops, bars, cafés, and a post office. The quaint town was run through with a four-lane highway lined with commercial businesses, and just outside the main area was a neighborhood with row by row of closely packed old houses. By the time they rolled into town, it was about 11:00. There was no form of hotel/motel anywhere, so Sam just pulled into the large abandoned parking lot of a large abandoned department store hidden behind a bunch of other presumably vacant buildings. He figured that'd be a good enough spot to stop for the night.

"You gonna get some rest?" He asked while reclining his seat as far as it would go.

"Nah, I don't sleep. Don't need to. Where's your laptop?"

"Dude, you're not looking at porn on my laptop."

"I won't! I'm gonna do some research. See if I can find what we're up against."

"_You're_ going to do research? Well, I'm not going to argue with that. It's in the bag in the back seat." Sam settled in to go to sleep, but found it hard to accept unconsciousness knowing there was a demon in the passenger seat. It _was_, in fact Dean, but Sam still felt wary from his introductory rant. Afraid that there might be something else in there.

"Great. Get some shut-eye. I promise not to murder you in your sleep." Dean joked while reaching back for the laptop.

It was meant lightheartedly, but still sent shivers down Sam's spine. "Thanks," he mumbled. He listened to Dean tapping on the keys until he could no longer stay awake.

**A/N: Whew! Four chapters in one day! This story is just so fun that it practically writes itself! Anyway, please review, I love everyone who has so far!**


	5. The Past Comes Back To Haunt

When Sam woke up, Led Zeppelin was blasting and the car was moving.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy!" Dean yelled over the music. Sam sat up to find that he was in the passenger's seat and Dean was currently driving down the highway. He glanced at the clock, 8:45 am. He stretched and yawned.

"Where are we going?"

"Breakfast. We passed this diner on the way into town, the locals swear by it."

"Dude how long have you been up?" He asked tiredly, still rubbing his eyes.

"Don't sleep. Demon. Remember?" It almost scared Sam how casually he said it.

"Right, yeah. And you interviewed the locals for breakfast joints?"

"Interviewed is a loose term. I gotta say, loving the new tricks." Seeing the concern in Sam's face, he added, "don't worry, I didn't do anything to anyone."

Sam decided it didn't matter. They turned off the highway to a modest-looking diner. Dean parked and they went inside. Linoleum floors, vinyl booths, and plastic plants adorned the small, well lit room. They were seated immediately in a booth next to a group of loud hunters (actual game hunters, camouflage and the works) and both ordered coffee.

Dean started as soon as their waitress walked away.

"So I was researching all night, and I'm pretty sure we can chalk it all up to a Jikininki."

"A what?"

The waitress came back, took their orders, and quickly made her way back to the kitchen. They both waited until she was gone.

"A what?" Sam asked again.

"A Jikininki. Yeah, I know. Funny word. It's Japanese legend. A spirit with 'insatiable hunger'. Feeds on corpses. Now, I was looking into the reports, and all the cattle mutilations happened at the same time, and about a week before the disappearances started happening. That was about a month ago."

"So you think this thing came for the cows and stayed for the house pets?"

"It did say insatiable. I think you were right, it's only a matter of time before this thing steps up its game."

Their food was set in front of them. Dean immediately grabbed a fork and dug in.

"Hungry?" Sam asked, with a tinge of humor.

"Yeah I'm hungry," he responded with a mouthful of food, "you go a few hundred years without eating and see if you can resist a plate full of meat and potatoes."

"Right, anyway, how do we kill this thing?"

"There's the catch. I dug up a banishing ritual, but it's in Japanese. Do we know anyone that speaks Japanese?"

Sam was silent for a second, wondering whether or not to suggest this. He decided to. "Bobby does."

"Bobby? Really?"

"Yeah. I think we should call him."

"No, we're not calling Bobby."

"Why not?"

Dean put down his fork, "you _know_ why not." He said, his eyes involuntarily turning black.

Sam took a deep breath and spoke quietly, "you're going to have to face him sometime. And you're going to have to tell him the truth." Dean sighed and closed his eyes to calm himself. When he reopened them, they were back to normal. Sam continued, "it's not going to be easy, but I'll be there to back you up. We have to call him if we're going to get rid of this thing."

"Fine." Was all he said. They finished breakfast in silence.

Outside, Dean sat in the car while Sam paced along the sidewalk talking to Bobby. "So?" Dean asked simply when he got back in the car.

"He's on his way. Said he'd be here by tomorrow."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I just told him about the Jikininki and that we needed some Japanese text translated."

"No, I mean about me. Did you tell him anything about me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, "It's a little difficult to explain by phone."

"So he's just going to show up and SURPRISE, Dean's alive. But oh wait, he's a demon."

"Pretty much."

"Yeah, that'll go over great."

"We don't really have an option do we?"

"I guess not." Dean whipped the car out of the parking lot and headed back down the highway, this time turning away from town and toward the corn fields.

"Where are we going?"

"The ritual has to be read at the first place the Jikininki showed up. According to the police records, the cattle mutilations took place at this dairy farm just outside town."

They drove out of town and into a vast farmland. Dean followed back roads until it seemed they'd gone full circle. Down a thin road curving and bending through yet another corn field, they came across an old farm house. There were patches of mud and dead grass fenced in where there were probably once cows. They drove past slowly to survey the pastures. The particularly large one farthest away from the house seemed a good place for the reading.

* * *

Dean brought the car back to its parking spot in front of the department store. Dean got out for some air, pacing aimlessly with hands shoved in his pockets.

"I sent Bobby the address, he's meeting us there." Sam said, leaning on the car and watching Dean walk back and forth.

Dean didn't respond.

"So what are you going to do?"

Dean stopped pacing and looked up, "about Bobby? I'm going to get as far away as I can and tell him the truth. He's gonna try to kill me, you know."

"I'll be there to back you up."

"And he's going to trust you? The last demon you worked with ended up bad, why shouldn't he think the same thing's happening here?" He was talking quickly, sounding more and more stressed.

"Dean–"

He ignored Sam and kept nervously rambling. "Like it or not, I'm a demon, Sam. I'm one of the things you should be hunting. And that's how he's going to see it. Another thing to hunt."

"Come on–"

"A-and how am I going to even convince him that it's actually me, and not some random kill-everyone-for-fun demon. I haven't even convinced you of that yet–"

"Dean!" Sam yelled to get his brother's attention.

"What!" Dean yelled back louder, eyes turning black again.

Sam, taken slightly aback, spoke softly and calmly, "we'll figure it out. Bobby can't kill you, we have the colt and as far as I know, Bobby doesn't have anything else that _can_."

"He can't, but he'll sure as hell try. It's still going to hurt if he shoots me with a normal gun, you know. And holy water and salt both burn like hell, he'll definitely have some of both on him."

"It'll be fine." Sam assured. Dean blinked his eyes back to normal and continued pacing in silence.


	6. Face Your Demons

Dean decided to actually go for a walk, rather than pacing around the car. His intention was to be alone, but Sam insisted on going with. Partly because he needed to be active too, but mostly because he didn't quite trust Dean alone. Not yet. They ended up walking through the town. There was a surprising lack of people doing the same, considering the time of day. The maybe twenty minute walk was in silence, Dean didn't want to say anything and Sam was afraid to ask. None of the shops looked very interesting, so they ended up just sitting in the town square.

Dean sat quietly, avoiding eye contact and conversation. Sam, on the other hand, needed to get something off his chest. After a few minutes of sitting, he blurted out, "hey, I've been thinking." Dean looked at him to convey interest. "I don't think the cattle mutilations had anything to do with this thing. They brought it here."

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, you know as well as I do." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cattle mutilations? Those are demonic omens."

Dean looked away and nodded, seeing where he was going with this.

"Exactly when did you get out?"

He sighed, "about a month ago. This is me, isn't it? It's my fault this thing is here."

"Well, it's not like you could help it. That's just what happens when you... get out."

"Yeah, but it is my fault. People could have died if we didn't show up. Is this going to happen everywhere I go?"

"I don't think so. I mean, demons don't always leave signs. I think it's just when they're really powerful. I'm sure it took quite a bit to get out."

"Yeah maybe. Hey, are you hungry? I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry lately."

Dean ignored the comment. "I could really go for a burger," he said, walking off to the bar & grill across the street, expecting Sam to follow.

The building was unexceptional. The small parking area was lined with motorcycles and the sidewalk with smokers. A sign above the door said "Parkside" in curly green letters. The interior was more bar than grill, a large counter in the middle with a few booths lining the walls. It was pretty empty, considering it was near dinner rush hour. Dean did get his burger, and a drink or two, and by the time they'd left, most of the town was dark and uninhibited.

They headed back to the impala, talking about nothing of consequence. When they got back, Sam pulled out his laptop and claimed to be looking into a potential case. Dean, on the other hand knew what he was really doing: scouring the Internet for any and all lore about demons. He could tell Sam was scared. He hadn't said anything about it, but Sam's worries were clear as day in Dean's head. He couldn't go as far as reading thoughts, but feelings came through automatically. He could tell that Sam had hardly any trust; constantly on edge thinking that Dean had some master plan to turn on him, or would just go on some killing spree. Skeptical as to whether or not he was actually himself. Terrified every time Dean's eyes changed — an annoying side effect of heightened emotion Dean was still trying to get under control. And, small and tucked away, a hysterical happiness at seeing his brother again. Desperate hope that Dean was telling the truth. All of this broke his heart.

He waited patiently until Sam fell asleep before disappearing and popping back to Parkside. This time of night, it was fully a bar, more occupied than it had been earlier. Dean plopped down at the counter and the bartender was quickly in front of him.

"What'll it be?"

"What've you got that's strong?"

She poured the drink and slid it to Dean. "So what's got you down?" She asked, leaning her elbows on the bar.

"What makes you think something has?"

She laughed a bit, "only people come in here are old miserable drunks, happy 21 year olds, and plain miserable people. You don't look old or happy. So what is it? Job? Family? I've heard it all."

Dean found her reasoning ironic. He was old. Very old, in fact, due to all his time in Hell. And he was happy. Happier than he'd been in nine hundred years. It warmed his cold, blackened heart just to see his little brother again. But at the same time, there was the pain for the pain he was causing Sam by just being there which balanced out his happiness. He took a long drink and stared into his cup with a sad smile. "What's your name?"

"Amy. You?"

"Dean." It felt strange to say his name, no one had asked for it for a long time. It almost felt like it didn't belong to him. "Tell you the truth, Amy, I've been to hell and back in the last few years. Done some things I'd rather not think about." Another sip. "And now, I meet up with my brother for the first time and naturally, he doesn't really want anything to do with me."

"Sounds like you two just need to talk."

"Yeah, I guess." He avoided saying any more. Had a few more glasses before realizing the alcohol had no effect on him. Amy had slipped her phone number under his glass, but he pretended not to notice. He ended up leaving the bar and popping back to the car to make sure Sam hadn't noticed his absence. The rest of the night, Dean ended up outside the car toning his new skills by psychically hitting a rock back and forth.

**A/N: Fewer chapters today, I'm afraid. And kind of ending of a boring one. But I'll keep them coming, I promise! Also, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who favorited/followed/reviewed so far! I love you!**


	7. おやすみなさい

**A/N: italicized phrases are** **quiet/whispered/muffled**

The next day, Sam and Dean went to breakfast at the same diner (Dean had cherry pie. Nothing else.) then headed back to the dairy farm outside town. They waited on the side of the road for Bobby to show up, Dean getting more restless by the second.

"You know, maybe I should just go wait somewhere else."

"You're going to have to face this, Dean."

Dean sighed and started drumming on his thighs.

Bobby's junker pulled around the bend and parked behind the impala. Sam immediately got out to greet him. Meanwhile, Dean decided to wait for a minute to calm himself, couldn't have any involuntary black-eyed moments with Bobby there. He tuned in to the casual conversation outside.

_"... Thanks for coming on such short notice."_

_"Sure, no problem. I was just in Misouri helpin out an old friend. So what've we got here again?"_

_"A Jikininki. But first," _Sam paused, thinking about how to continue. He took a deep breath,_ "I stopped for a bit on my way here, and you'll never guess who showed up."_

Dean took this as his cue.

_"Who?"_

He took one last calming breath and slowly stepped out of the car.

Bobby gaped at him. "What the hell? Dean?" He turned to Sam questioningly.

Dean tried his best to appear casual. "Hey Bobby. Long time no see."

Bobby responded only with a nod, pulling Sam to the side.

_"Sam, tell me you're not being stupid about this."_

_"I'm not "_

_"People don't just come back from bein dead. You tested him, right? Silver, salt, holy water, all that?"_

Dean could hear every word of the hushed conversation and decided that now was as good a time as any to come out truthfully. He cleared his throat. "Well, about that," he began, causing both to turn in surprise. "I didn't exactly pass all of the tests, per se." Bobby reached towards his gun. Dean put his hands up in surrender and continued, "now, don't freak out on me. The test I didn't pass," he paused and tensed for the worst, "was the holy water. You're right, people don't just come back from Hell. I had to come back as a demon." His eyes pointedly turned black.

As he anticipated, Bobby quickly drew his gun and didn't hesitate to shoot Dean once in the chest. He was going for more, but Sam grabbed the gun away before he could.

Dean instinctively put a hand to the bullet hole. "Ow!" He yelled incredulously at Bobby, who was fighting to get his gun back.

"Look, just hear him out." Sam said.

Bobby looked at him, horrified. "You can't really be this stupid. That is a _demon_, Sam. That's not your brother."

"Yeah, it actually is." Dean chimed in, still not daring to get closer. "I was dead seven years. That means about 900 in the pit before I got topside. Come on, Bobby. You do your research, I'm sure you've come across something about how demons are made." He could feel Bobby's doubt slightly wear down, but there still wasn't an inkling of trust. "It's still me, right Sammy?" He raised his brow at his brother, who had promised to back him up.

Sam glanced warily at Dean, who, noticing his brother's heightened level of fear, remembered that his eyes were still black, making them even more uneasy. He quickly blinked them back to normal.

Sam continued. "Right. I've been doing some research, and I found out that once a vessel dies, a demon doesn't have any access to memories. Dean was completely dead, buried for years. And now, he remembers everything, so it has to be him in there." He finished with a genuine little smile. Dean noticed with relief the complete lack of doubt in Sam's statement. Bobby, though still skeptical, trusted Sam, and that was enough for now.

"Great, now that that's out of the way," Dean sauntered toward Bobby and Sam and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "What do you say we ice this thing?"

* * *

Sam laid down a salt circle in the middle of the pasture, taking care to let Dean inside before closing it. The ritual didn't require anything to be mixed together, just to be recited.

Bobby started reading into the air. It was quiet for a while, but after the first stanza or so, the Jikininki appeared across the field in the distance. It disappeared and reappeared nearer and nearer until it was just outside the salt circle. It looked like a corpse, exposed bones and melting flesh. Bobby didn't look up from the paper and Dean remained stoic. Sam, on the other hand, stared at it, paralyzed. Dean remembered something he'd read on Jikininki: they paralyze their prey on sight. Also, something he distinctly did _not_ see in all his research: that Jikininki can't cross salt lines.

The creature stared pensively at the circle for a moment before moving inside it. When it started to advance toward Sam, Dean did the first thing he could think of. He put himself in front of his helpless brother and prepared to fend it off by any means. The chant paused momentarily as Bobby glanced at Dean.

"Don't look at it, Bobby!" He yelled, turning his threatening black eyes on him. "Keep reading!" He did so, more rushed and trembling than before.

Dean stretched a hand in front of him and focused an attack at the thing with all the mental power he could muster, sending the Jikininki back into the wooden fence. Dean stared at his hand in amusement. The thing recovered and started to make its way back, but hardly made it halfway before Bobby finished the ritual.

The Jikininki violently disappeared with a low moan and a burst of light.

Sam collapsed to the ground with a shaking gasp. Dean was instantly beside him. "Sammy! You okay?"

Sam took a deep breath and looked up, "yeah, I'm fine." He stood and looked at Dean, gesturing to his eyes. Dean blinked back to normal.

Bobby looked at Dean, "what the hell happened, Dean?"

"I just saved your life, a little gratitude would be nice. I'm not evil, Bobby. Just a hunter with a few tricks up my sleeve." He gave a smug smile.

"Thanks." Sam said with sincere trust, much to Dean's relief. Bobby said nothing, still not prepared to get within five feet of him.

"Well, best get going." Sam announced, and he and Bobby started walking away.

"Hey!" Dean called after them. Both turned. Dean gestured to the line of salt in front of him, "someone wanna let me out?"

Sam jogged back and kicked the salt out of the way. "This is gonna take some getting used to."

"Yeah, no kidding."

* * *

Back in the parking lot, Dean waited in the car, music blaring, while the other two talked outside. He knew they were talking about him, but it was to be expected. He still had to work to earn trust, especially from Bobby.

Despite the loud music coming from the impala, Bobby spoke quietly, remembering Dean's newly acute hearing. "Do you really trust him?"

Sam glanced at his brother, "I'm trying to. We've gotta give him a chance here, Bobby. He's been through hell. Literally. I think he's still figuring things out too, and the last thing he needs is us trying to kill him. I believe that it's him, but I'm not sure how much he changed down there."

"I just want you to be smart about this. Remember what happened with Ruby. Anything happens, you bring him to me and we lock him in the panic room till we figure something out."

"Yeah. Thanks Bobby."

"Take care of yourself, boy. And take care of Dean."

"I will."

**A/N: A longer more interesting chapter to make up for the last one. I love all you guys for liking my story! The Supernatural fandom is so nice :) **

**Please tell me what you think. Another chapter on its way soon. **


	8. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Sam got back in the passenger seat and turned down the music as Bobby drove away. "How you doing?"

"I'm great," Dean said, looking gleeful, "why shouldn't I be? Went a lot better than I expected. Bobby only shot me once. A case done with. On the road again with my brother. Couldn't be better. Are we ready to get the hell out of cornville though? This town's depressing."

It made Sam feel good to know that Dean was actually happy. "Sure, let's go."

"So what exactly happened with the Jikininki?" Sam asked as soon as they were on the road. "I can't remember anything after seeing it."

"Well, it was coming after you and the salt line didn't stop it. So, I fought it off."

"Fought it off? How?"

"With my super awesome demon mind powers," he responded with a smile.

Things were as if nothing had changed, if not better. Dean behind the wheel of his beloved impala, singing along to classic rock and drumming on the steering wheel. He held no old grudges (a relief to Sam) and was essentially carefree. They set off to nowhere in particular, heading west from Huntley.

After a long day of driving and a bit of listening to the police scanner, Sam suggested they find somewhere to stay the night. Dean found some roadside motel in Indiana and got a room. Sam settled in while Dean popped off to a gas station for a newspaper and some snacks.

He appeared to the side of the gas station unnoticed and walked in. He was checking out when he noticed something wrong in the air. A strange presence somewhere close. He walked out of the store and quickly popped back to the motel. The uneasy feeling was stronger standing outside their room. He recognized it, but couldn't quite place it. He pulled out his gun and slowly opened the door. Inside, Sam was already asleep and he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, though that feeling was still there. Dean checked the closet, the bathroom, under the beds, and anywhere else he could think of before deciding to leave it be. It slowly faded and Dean relaxed a bit.

He browsed through the paper for anything strange for about thirty minutes and listened to the police scanner for the rest of the night while practicing his new skills. After knocking around a pillow for a while, he decided to try something new. He sat on the second bed and focused on his brother's sleeping form. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused solely on Sam's mind. Nothing seemed to happen, so he stopped the effort and opened his eyes. But he didn't see the motel room. Instead, he found himself in a forest.

_'I did it'_ he thought. _'This must be Sam's dream.'_ It was dark and misty. Ridiculously tall trees reached up on all sides. The only sound was a scream in the distance. No, not far away, quiet. A quiet scream sounded in Dean's head. He closed his eyes and listened.

It came in clearly now. A pained, wordless scream. Dean looked around, trying to find the source.

Suddenly, Dean found himself in a different part of the forest. There was still an endless expanse of trees, but now he could make out two shapes in the distance, one pinned against a tree an few feet above the ground and one standing in front of him, one arm outstretched. Dean had a bad feeling about who they were.

He again found himself closer. Close enough to see their faces. Struggling against the tree was Sam, beaten and bloodied. Dean slowly turned to look at the other, though he already knew who it was. Standing in front of the tree, malice in his pitch black eyes, was Dean himself.

"Please," Sam begged. "Don't do this. This isn't you."

Dream Dean grinned wildly. "No. Not anymore." He clenched his outstretched hand and Sam screamed in agony.

Dean decided he'd seen enough. He squeezed his eyes shut until Sam's screams faded.

When he opened his eyes again, he was thankfully back in the motel room. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breathing was labored, though he didn't know if it was the shock and fear from the dream or the exertion of getting out of it. Sam was sleeping restlessly, still stuck in the dream.

"Sam." Dean said, trying to wake him up. He didn't stir. "Sam!" He yelled.

Sam woke up with a gasp, out of breath.

"You were having a nightmare. Pretty bad one at that."

Sam pinched the bridge if his nose. "Yeah. Thanks."

"So is that thing still happening?"

"What?"

"You know the visions. Of people dying." Dean was terrified that Sam's dream had been a vision of his own death. He wanted desperately not to become the senseless killer in his dream.

"Right. No that stopped a while ago. Just normal nightmares."

Dean nodded, both relieved and sad. Sam was still so afraid of him that he had nightmares of being killed by his own brother. Maybe it would never change. Maybe Sam would always have to force himself to look calm when in the same room as Dean. Maybe he'd never get enough sleep because he knew Dean was awake. Maybe he'd never be able to trust a demon.

The more Dean thought about it, the less coming back seemed like a good idea.


	9. The Truth Comes Out

The pair went out for breakfast and talked over oatmeal and pancakes. Dean decided to tell Sam about what he felt at the gas station.

"Do you have any idea what it was?" Sam asked when he was done explaining.

"You know, I feel like I recognize it, I just can't really put my finger on it."

"So it was just, what, intuition?"

"Well we've worked on just your intuition before. I just think we should stay here until I can figure out what it is. It feels like it could be dangerous."

Sam nodded, "alright."

They finished breakfast and headed back to the motel in a stretch of silence. Dean decided to break the tension.

"Okay, if this is going to work, we need to be completely truthful with each other."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I haven't told you everything, and I can't expect you to trust me if I'm keeping things from you."

"Dean, if you don't want to talk about hell, it's fine."

"No, it's not that, I'll tell you anything you want to know about my time down under. I mean, I know how you feel." Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Every second of every day. It's like, I don't know, a sixth sense. I just know. Like right now you're skeptical." Sam gave him a look. "Now you're confused. Now you're half pissed off and half freaked out."

"Huh."

"And what I'm getting at is, I know how you feel... about me. About traveling with me, about me hunting, hell, you're uneasy right now just because I'm sitting here."

"Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

"Because I could tell that you would flip out on me if I did. Alright, I spilled my guts, anything you want to tell me?"

Sam stared out the window. "The truth?"

"That's the idea."

He spoke hesitantly. "You're scaring me, Dean. I'm so afraid that you'll be like other demons."

"Black eyed and kill-crazy?"

"Well, yeah I guess. And I'm sorry, I just can't trust you yet. It's not you, it's everything that's happened with other demons and I started thinking that maybe it's just instinct, something that'll happen to every demon eventually, like vengeful spirits. And another thing, I've met demons a lot older than you who can hardly make a gust of wind, whereas you just show up and you can automatically disappear and reappear and toss a ghost clear across a field. And now this emotions thing, I feel like you're in my head and, honestly, it freaks me out a bit."

"Wow," was all Dean said in response.

"Too much truth?" Sam asked, now looking worried.

"No. No, truth is good. Just, wow. That's just, you know, a lot."

"I'm sorry."

"No. It's good to know."

"Dean–"

He hit his palm against the steering wheel, eyes momentarily flickering black. "I said it's fine, Sam. Drop it."

When they got back to the motel, Sam went inside while Dean loitered in front of the vending machine outside. He just needed some air. He already knew that gaining Sam's trust would be near impossible, but hearing all of his concerns out loud was like a blow to the chest. It had to come out eventually, he could tell that both of them needed to get it out in the open. He pounded a fist on the vending machine (perhaps a bit harder than he meant to, it left a dent) and turned to go back to the room.

That was when it came back. That strange presence, much stronger than before, closer. Dean ran back to the room as soon as he felt it. He could hear some struggle from inside. He burst through the door to find Sam fighting with (and losing to) a tall man with quite a bit of bulk. This was definitely the presence. A demon.

Dean rushed towards him, arm outstretched. The demon was thrown against the wall and pinned there despite his struggles. His heaving breaths turned to menacing laughter.

"Why are you following me?" Dean insisted.

"It's you, isn't it? Dean Winchester." The demon continued laughing.

Dean pulled him forward and slammed him back against the wall, "answer the question!"

"Oh they told me about you. How mad you'd get if I messed with little Sammy here. Why are you protecting him still? You don't need him. With how powerful you are, you could rule the world in a week if you wanted to."

Dean clenched his fist, eyes turning black. The demon moaned in pain. "Why are you here?"

"Well I just wanted to see it myself. The strong young demon who thinks he can still be a hunter. You're a regular celebrity down under. I also wanted to send my congratulations. Crawling out in only twenty years. That's got to be some sort of record. Some of us are actually pretty pissed about it." Another chilling laugh. "I heard Lucifer had big plans for you."

"Shut up." Dean clenched his fist tighter.

The demon let loose a scream. "You can't run from Hell, Dean! It'll follow you forever!"

Dean took a determined stance. "Exorcizamus te" he began, wincing a bit.

"You're not going to exorcise me. Not without taking yourself with."

Dean paid no attention to him, "omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica protestas," he fought to hold his stance, speaking with more difficulty, "omnis incursio, infernalis adverserii," his head was whipped to the side, but he continued strongly. "Omnis legio, Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica." Dean was out of breath, he stumbled back. He tried to keep going, but it was too painful. He had to drop the hand holding the demon against the wall. The demon grinned and started to stalk toward Dean on the floor.

Meanwhile, Sam was recovering from the beating. Seeing the situation, he sped through the rest of the exorcism. Black smoke rushed out of the man's mouth and his body collapsed.

Dean was coughing and panting, heavily supporting himself on a wall. "How about you handle those from now on."

"No kidding. You okay?"

"Yeah, I will be. Thanks Sammy."

"No problem. It's what I'm here for, right?"

Dean smiled a bit, "right."


	10. Wanted Dead Or Alive

Dean packed in a hurry, not even taking the time to walk around the room. His constant teleporting was making Sam dizzy. He spoke as packed, voice hopping around the room with him.

"We're getting out of here, help me pack."

"Dean, can you just calm down for a second." Dean stopped in front of him.

"What?"

"Why are you in such a hurry? One minute, we can't leave, now we're running away. What's going on?"

"More are coming, they're following me."

"More demons? Why?"

"I don't know."

"Well we don't really have to run. You're pretty well equipped to deal with them."

"There's lots that're stronger than me. Besides, it's not me I'm worried about." He looked genuinely concerned.

"Alright. What about that thing you felt? Are we just going to leave that now?"

"That _was_ what I felt. The demon. We have to get out of here." He went back to packing while still talking. "New rules from now on. I feel anything again, we either get out or get ready to fight. And we're not separated at all anymore. Never leave weapons sitting around, you always have the knife on you. Also, we need to find a way to work salt into normal bullets. Well, you need to. That'll be easier to carry around than the salt gun and it'll slow them down a hell of a lot more than a normal bullets." He disappeared from the room entirely and appeared directly behind Sam seconds later. "Ready to go?"

Sam jumped and turned around. "Is this going to be a normal thing now?"

"Not if they can't find us. I'll sense them coming if they do."

Sam was skeptical for a moment, then nodded. He suddenly found himself in the passenger seat of the impala. Dean peeled out of the parking lot an was quickly back on the highway.

"Okay, you have to warn me before you do that."

Dean ignored the comment, "We'll get out of town, it'll take them a while to find us again. I'm sorry about this, Sammy. They're hunting you because of me."

"It'll be fine. We'll work this out."

"Yeah, I hope so. We have to find a way to drop off their map. They can find us anywhere in a matter of days."

"What about you?"

"I know how to use a real map. We're not going to get separated anyway, right?"

"Right. So how do we lose them?"

"I don't know. I'm sure there's something. We just need to look."

"I could ask Bobby if he knows anything."

"Alright, you do that."

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's just, Bobby doesn't want anything to do with me. He seems pretty sure that I'm ready to kill both of you any second. But yeah, call him. If he knows anything, it'll save us a lot of research."

"You know it's going to take a lot for him."

"Yeah, I know. His wife. I don't blame him. Give him a call."

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Bobby.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. We need some advice."

_"Make it quick, I'm busy."_

"Would you happen to know of anything that'll throw demons off our trail?"

_"Can't say I do. D'you two idjits already get yourselves into trouble?"_

"A bit, but we can handle it."

_"Hey, this wouldn't have anything to do with Dean, would it?"_

"It's not his fault, and it's nothing we can't take care of."

_"... Alright. I'll tell ya if I find anything."_

"Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

Bobby hung up the phone with a sigh. He was worried about his boys, Sam in particular. He had too much of a weak spot when it came to Dean. He went back to the basement to the demon tied up in the center of a devil's trap. He grabbed a bottle of holy water while advancing towards the demon.

"Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time before I send you back to Hell." Bobby loomed over the demon. "What do you know about Dean Winchester?"

**A/N: And I think I'll end it there for today. Short and sweet. I've officially set a personal goal of two chapters per day, so you can expect these to keep coming at a steady pace. I love each and every one of my readers, favorites, followers, and especially reviewers. Thanks for being awesome :)**


	11. Agents Winchester and Winchester, FBI

They were back on the road, stopping occasionally for food or rest, naturally checking papers wherever they went for anything unusual. They just hopped from town to town searching for cases.

The hiatus didn't last long. Three days later, the boys rolled into Dayton, Ohio.

They stopped at some small back road cafe for lunch. Dean had a bacon cheeseburger, Sam had a salad. They both watched the daily news on tv mounted to the wall. A tune played announcing 'Breaking News'. A blonde reporter read from a piece of paper as pictures of police cars and crime tape flashed in the corner. "Christine and Luke Owens were found dead in their apartment this morning. The police were alerted by concerned neighbor who reported hearing a struggle. The police are currently investigating. Six year old Layla Owens taken into custody."

"Doesn't really sound like our kind of case, does it?"

"We could look into it. He haven't had any cases lately."

"Alright. Hey, do I still have IDs?"

Sam laughed a bit, "yeah. I couldn't quite bring myself to throw them away."

"Great. And a suit?"

"That too. It was expensive, I figured I could make some use of it eventually."

"Alright, we're all set then."

* * *

They pulled up to the police station in full uniform and walked up to the front desk with confidence.

They flashed their badges and Dean made introductions. "Agents Tyler and Hamilton."

Sam chimed in, "we'd like to talk to whoever's in charge of the Owens case."

"Sure, just a second."

A woman in a blue suit, red headed and exceptionally short, quickly appeared around a corner and swiftly walked up to greet them.

"Detective Alyssum. I'm sorry, agents, I don't really have time to talk. I was just assigned to this case and I have a crime scene to investigate."

Sam stopped her from walking away, "great, we'll come with. We were just assigned too."

"Yeah, why are the Feds here so quick anyway?"

Dean shrugged, "hey, we don't give the orders, just follow them."

She looked at them skeptically. "Could I see your badges?"

"Yeah sure."

She took their fake IDs and left to call their 'supervisor'. She returned their badges with a nod. "Alright, looks like you check out. I guess I'll see you two there.

* * *

They met Detective Alyssum at the door to the apartment building. The apartment was on the third floor. It looked well kept and quaint. Alyssum explained the case to them while leading them to the parents' room.

"Doesn't look like any signs of forced entry. The daughter was asleep, killer didn't even go into her room."

Sam's brow wrinkled, "but I thought the neighbor called because he heard fighting?"

Alyssum shrugged, "I can't explain it. We don't go into an investigation knowing the answers already. That's why it's an investigation."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. They got to the room. Both victims were still on the bed in puddles of blood. They looked around briefly, then Sam asked to see the daughter's room.

"But the killer didn't even go in there, why do you want to see it?"

"Please?"

"Alright. Go ahead, second door to the left, I have work to do here."

Dean followed Sam down the hall to the little girl's room. It was pink and flamboyantly decorated, as to be expected of a six year old girl. They investigated the room thoroughly.

Dean crouched by the side of the bed. "Hey, check this out." Sam went over to look. There was fine sand scattered around a vent.

"Well that's unusual."

"Yeah. Plus the kid sleeping through her parents' murder? Maybe there is something here."

"Yeah, just need to find out what."

**A/N: I'm sorry for just one short and somewhat boring chapter today. Busy day. This happens every time I announce a goal. I'll make up for it with extra tomorrow, I promise at least three! Please review. I love you all :)**


	12. Bring Me A Dream

They got a room at a motel in the slightly shadier part of town. Sam was on his laptop trying to find what they're up against while Dean flipped through any and all books they had looking for a way to make the demons lose their scent.

Not too long after they got started, Dean announced that he was starving and briefly vanished, reappearing about a minute later with a greasy brown paper bag. Sam shook his head as Dean devoured his third cheeseburger of the day. "You're going to have a heart attack." He commented without any real concern.

Dean smiled and his eyes flashed black for a split second, "no I'm not." He'd gotten much better with controlling his eyes changing. However, getting better at controlling it meant doing it a lot more often, something that made Sam pretty uneasy. He just went back to his research as Dean pulled out a bag of french fries.

"Hey, you might not want to do that."

Dean popped one into his mouth before he was able to notice the stinging on his fingers. "Why no—" He instantly yelped in pain and spit out the fry, staring at it as if it had betrayed him.

Sam couldn't stop laughing. Dean was not at all amused. He jabbed a finger at the bag, "That is not funny."

"Actually, yeah, it's pretty damn funny."

"You're a jerk." Dean pushed the fries toward Sam with a pencil and went back to work.

After a while of research, Sam perked up. "Hey, check this out." He turned the laptop toward Dean.

"Wha'd'ya got?"

"A sandman."

"Sandman? I thought that was just a fairytale?"

"Well there's more lore on them than you'd expect. They go into kids rooms at night and sprinkle sand over their eyes."

"Not creepy at all."

"And that gives the kid good dreams. Well that's the fairytale, anyway. But then I came across this," he clicked to another page, "and it says here that the sand puts kids into a deep sleep while it feeds off of their nightmares."

"Okay, that explains all the sand, but what about the dead parents?"

"It says that when the kid doesn't have any more bad dreams to feed off of, it'll create more. Seeing their parents cut up like that, that'll scar a kid for life."

"Sounds like our guy. Say anything about how to kill it?"

"I'll keep looking."

It got to about 1 am before Dean insisted Sam get some sleep. He needed his energy. They still hadn't found anything on how to kill the sandman. However, an hour or so after Sam fell asleep, Dean uncovered how to make hex bags to act as a sort of demon invisibility cloak. They wouldn't be able to be found in any of the traditional demonic ways. It wouldn't be able to stop normal tracking, but it was a start. He carefully poured a line of salt around Sam's bed before disappearing to collect ingredients.


	13. GhostBusted

Dean threw Sam's suit on him to wake him up.

"Get dressed."

"Where are we going?"

"Detective Asylum-"

"Alyssum,"

"Whatever. She called, the kid went missing."

"The sandman took her?"

"Probably."

Sam got up, noticing the salt line around his bed. "Did you leave last night?"

"Briefly, I had to go get some stuff."

"What stuff? Your rules, we're not separated."

"I wasn't gone for long, and you were safe enough."

"Fine. What did you need to get?"

Dean threw a small bag at him. "Hex bags. It'll stop the demons from finding us. Well, it'll delay them. They can still normally track us, so keep your head low."

Sam looked impressed, "good digging." He headed to the bathroom to get ready. "Is there time for breakfast?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sammy. There's always time for breakfast."

A quick breakfast later, they arrived at the police station. They sauntered in proudly like the day before and were quickly greeted by an angry looking Detective Alyssum.

"Hello, boys. Now, we could do this the easy way where you let us cuff you and take you in quietly, or," they became aware of the officers standing behind them, "we could do it the hard way, where you get 50,000 volts. Which will it be?"

Sam put his hands behind his back and was quickly cuffed. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't resist making a sarcastic comment: "I don't know, option two sounds kinda kinky." Needless to say, he got option two.

* * *

When Dean recovered, both he and Sam were in a holding cell. Sam looked at him with mild amusement.

"Do you enjoy being tased?"

"Didn't hurt. Why are we in here, anyway? Maybe she looked into our badges, saw that they were fake?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"You think it was something else?"

Sam sighed, "a few months back, before you showed up, I was in Cincinnati hunting vamps. They kind of found me with a machete after I took a couple out. They caught me and took prints. I got away, but they've probably been looking for me."

"Great, so they're probably going to catch you up on murder charges. We should get out –"

Before he could finish, two officers walked in. They opened the cell and Sam and Dean were escorted to separate interrogation rooms.

*in Sam's room*

Sam was sat in a chair and handcuffed to the table. He hated interrogation rooms, the feeling of being watched without being able to see who was watching him. He tried to look as relaxed as possible when Alyssum walked in with a thick folder Sam suspected was full of police reports. She plopped the folder on the table and sat across from him.

"I was a little skeptical when I called in your badges. The guy was fine; rude and condescending like you expect from an FBI supervisor. The thing is, I could have sworn I heard someone yelling in the background just before he hung up on me. Well I thought 'that's weird' so I called in a few favors, and just guess what I found? Agents Tyler and Hamilton don't exist. Impersonating a federal agent." She made a check mark in the air. She stood and started to circle the table. "I did a little more digging and found that you match the description of a murder suspect from a few months back perfectly." She read from a piece of paper, "Male, Caucasian, long brown hair, very muscular, about 6'5". Then I found the arrest report," she put the paper on the table and slid it toward him. There was a picture of him. "Sam Winchester. Look familiar? That's a charge for beheading five people. You escaped, no one knows how. Five accounts of murder in the first plus evading arrest," another air check. "But that's not all. I looked into your profile and it turns out you've got quite a record. It appears that you and your brother Dean have been arrested three times. Twice you were both pronounced dead at the station, once you escaped from prison. And the charges you were caught on," she rattled off a list from the folder, "burglary, breaking and entering, credit card fraud, impersonating federal officers, impersonating state officials, grave desecration, torture, and multiple additional accounts of murder in the first for your brother. Not to mention that almost all of the officials that have arrested you mysteriously ended up dead." She leaned her palms on the table. "I think I've stumbled on quite a find, wouldn't you say?"

*in Dean's room*

Dean sat quietly, wishing he wasn't being watched so he could just disappear, grab Sam, and be gone. There was a small tv on the table in his room, off. He was locked up and told to wait.

He kept yelling at the people he could feel standing behind the one-way mirror; "could I get a snack?", "You just gonna stand there watching me?", and when he heard whispers, he decided to freak them out a bit by answering them. Eventually, he got bored and just picked one person and stared at them intently until they left. He did this until Alyssum walked in.

"Ah, I've been waiting for you to show up, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart. I was talking to your brother when they told me I was needed in here because you were 'intimidating officers'." He smiled widely at a random person behind the glass. That person left quickly. He refocused on Alyssum.

"So what'd you get out of him?"

She was silent for a second, "he didn't say anything."

"Smart kid." Dean said under his breath.

"Are you aware of the kind of trouble you're in here? Not only do we have you on impersonating federal agents, we also have all of your previous charges, including your murder charges in St. Louis and Baltimore and your brother's in Cincinnati. Seven years ago, you faked your own death. Pretty effectively too, looks like you had everyone fooled. We know who you two are, we have a confession video from the last time you were arrested." She turned on the tv. Dean was in an interrogation room telling nothing but the truth about ghosts and shifters.

"Oh yeah, I remember that one. We caught the killer there too, by the way."

"Yeah, that's another thing. In all of the interrogations, you two seem to think you're some sort of vigilantes. And it's always justified with some crazy story about ghosts or demons or something."

"It's the truth. Most people just can't handle it."

"You've been called monsters, I'm inclined to think the same. You'll be in prison by morning."


	14. The Great Escape

Dean was left alone in the interrogation room, though he could feel Alyssum and someone else just behind the glass. He just leaned back in his chair (as far as the handcuffs would allow) and put his legs up on the table. He could hear the conversation just outside.

_"What do you plan to do with them?" _a male voice Dean hadn't heard before.

"_Well we just caught the Winchesters, we can't just let them escape." _That was Alyssum.

"_They're not going to escape. They won't try, there's cameras on them."_

"_That's never stopped them before. These two are some sort of professionals. We won't be able to take them to jail until tomorrow."_

"_We'll have some guards watch them on shifts overnight, make sure they're armed. They won't get out, I'll promise you that."_

There was a brief silence. _"If any guards end up dead, it's on us."_

"_It'll be fine. These two maniacs will be gone before you know it."_

"I resent that!" Dean yelled from inside the room. He felt Alyssum suddenly become afraid.

She whispered to the man as they walked away, _"He keeps doing that. I don't know how he can hear us…"_

Dean chuckled. Not five minutes after they left, a guard came in. Dean looked straight at him through the mirror. "Hey, what's up?" Dean felt the guard's fear raise. "You don't have to be afraid of me. If you're going to be sitting there all night, we can at least chat. It's boring in here."

The guard hit the microphone button, "I'm not here to chat, I'm here to make sure you don't escape."

"Yeah, well good luck with that." The guard ignored him. "You know, if I want out, I'm out."

"Yeah, well good luck with that."

Dean sat in silence for a good two hours or so before he felt it. A demon. He patted his pockets frantically. The hex bag was gone. "Hey, guard! I had a bag. A little black bag, where did they put it?"

"They took everything while you were out, guns, knives, lock picks. You were pretty armed."

Dean slammed his fist on the table, "the bag! Where did they put the bag?!"

"I don't know, in the evidence room probably. Why is it so important?"

Dean leaned forward stared intently at the guard. "Listen to me," he said gravely, "if you don't get out of here within the next two minutes, you're going to die."

"Are you threatening me? I'm not going to leave so you can escape. I'm staying right here where I can keep an eye on you."

"Listen, you need to get out of here!"

"This is a really bad master escape plan. What happened to 'If I want out, I'm out.'?"

"Fine." Dean said. The lights flickered off momentarily. When they came back on, Dean was gone.

The guard gaped at the empty room. He pulled out his gun and slowly advanced toward the one way mirror. A voice from behind him said "see. Now I'm out. You should get going." He spun and fired a shot at Dean. It hit him in the arm, but he didn't react. "I suggest you get smart and run now. If you like your job, you won't tell anyone about this." The guard shot Dean a few more times in the chest before running straight out of the building.

Dean appeared next to Sam (who was dosing off in his chair) and wasted no time in teleporting both of them back to the impala. A minute later, they were on the road back to the motel. Sam jumped and woke up, "what happened?"

"They took our hex bags and the demons found us. They're coming. Call Bobby and see if he can get someone else to finish the job, we can't do it with demons and the police chasing us." Sam nodded and did so.

When they got back to the motel, Sam waited in the car while Dean gathered their belongings. They were on their way out of Dayton within three minutes.

**A/N: There, three chapters as promised. Albeit three short ones. There may be another today, not sure yet. Anywhoot, please review. I love you all.**


	15. Under Pressure

Bobby searched high and low for any demons he could find. In a week, he'd scouted out four. Two didn't know anything, one refused to talk. The last one was different, however.

The demon was tied up in Bobby's basement, devil's trap and all. It was possessing a business man in his mid-thirties, well kept. He was exceptionally well behaved off the bat, not spitting threats or mocking him, just calmly following him with his eyes. Bobby picked up the holy water and readied himself for another interrogation.

"I need information."

"I'm afraid information's a bit valuable."

Bobby ignored him, "I need everything you know about Dean Winchester."

The demon grinned widely. "Winchester. Oh yes, I know him. Personally. Knew him about seventy years. We were Hell mates."

This peaked his interest. "What do you know about him?"

"I only met him after he broke."

"Broke?"

"Became a demon. I bet he was a hunter, am I right? There were quite a few demons down there who weren't too happy to see him. But he was a soulful young thing. I never really understood it. I told him it'd get him killed, you know what he said? 'Just let them try'. He never seemed to give up his humanity. He was always going on about 'Sammy'. He had to get back upstairs to take care of 'Sammy'. I assume you're asking because he's back?" He laughed, "I can't believe he got out. So fast too. I was sure they'd never let him leave."

"Who's they?"

He clicked his tongue a few times. "Now that's something I'm not at liberty to tell you."

Bobby splashed some holy water on the demon's face. "Tell me, or I'll make you tell me."

That was when the demon lost his composure. He threw back his head and laughed then turned his black eyes on Bobby. "There's nothing you can do here that's even close to what'll happen down there, old man. Those are some big state secrets that I can't just go spouting off. I'll have Hell to pay, you couldn't _begin _to imagine what they'll do."

Bobby grabbed a knife from the table and poured holy water over it. "I'm the one you should be worried about right now. Just tell me what they want with Dean."

The demon just spat in his face. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It had been near an hour nonstop. The demon was looking worse for wear and angrier every second. Bobby knew he should let it go soon, but what he hinted to know was exactly what Bobby wanted. Another splash of holy water sizzled in his fresh cuts.

The demon screamed in pain, his calm facade long gone. He leaned towards Bobby as far as his bindings would allow, eyes black and manic, teeth bared, _"I'm going to rip you open and strangle you with your own intestines."_

"No, you're going to tell me what the demons want with Dean."

He was quiet for a moment. "It's not what we want. He's got a price on his head."

"Keep going."

"He's powerful, and he's young. He's only going to get stronger and stronger and truthfully, they're scared, the big bosses. A demon as strong as Dean Winchester; no one wants that against them. The team he's on is the winning one."

Bobby, satisfied, finally exorcised him.


	16. In This Crazy Town

Sam and Dean were on their way to anywhere but Ohio. Dean stopped to get gas and Sam went inside for snacks and came back with a newspaper, brandishing the headline:

UNION CITY MYSTERIES CONTINUE

"Apparently, there have been a bunch of weird things happening in Union City, Pennsylvania."

"Like what?"

Sam looked through the article, "like a guy who went missing then showed up a few days later swearing he'd been abducted by aliens, a hiker who says she saw her boyfriend get taken by Bigfoot, someone mauled by their friend's seven cats, woman dies of spider bites in a spider-free house, the list goes on."

"Sounds interesting. Let's go."

Union City was about ten miles north of where they'd stopped. It was an industrial and old looking place with its fair share of abandoned buildings. Empty stretches of highway connected groupings of fast-food joints, gas stations, and various small businesses. They found a motel and set up shop there before going to interview some of the witnesses.

First off was the 'abduction' victim, Felix Yentley. Sam and Dean arrived at an apartment over an Italian restaurant, dressed as FBI agents. A scrawny 20some-year-old answered the door. He was in sweatpants and a baggy red tee with a small off-white blanket draped over his shoulders. "What do you want?" He asked irritably.

Dean flashed his badge, "I'm Agent Hetfield and this is Agent Hammet, we're with the FBI. We'd like to talk to you about what happened."

"About getting abducted? I've already gone through it with the police."

Sam chimed in, "we'd just like to ask you a few questions of our own."

Felix nodded and led them inside. There was sci-fi memorabilia cluttering the small apartment and a bulletin board full of newspaper clippings of UFO sightings on the wall. They sat on a worn sofa and Felix pulled up a kitchen chair.

"So could you just tell us all about what happened to you?" Sam asked.

Felix shook his head slightly, "I really can't say much about it other than that I was abducted. I was just taking out my trash when there was this intense light. I blacked out and when I woke up, I was strapped to a table with aliens all around me."

"Aliens?" Dean asked skeptically, "like the X-files?"

"Exactly like the X-files! They cut me open, right here." He pulled up his shirt to reveal a long diagonal scar from left shoulder to right hip.

They talked for about five more minutes then were on their way.

"So what do you think?" Sam asked as they walked back to the car.

"I think the guy's 31 flavors of crazy."

"But what about the scar?"

"It was a scar. Something as big as that doesn't heal in a month. It was probably something that happened as a kid. Who's next?"

"Terri Moore, boyfriend kidnapped by Bigfoot."

"Alright."

Terri Moore lived in a quaint and clean home in the tightly packed neighborhood just outside town. She let them inside without any difficulty.

"I don't know what to say about it. John was really into that kind of stuff, I always thought it was just a myth," she said.

"It's alright, just tell us what you saw."

She gulped, "John and I always go — went — on hikes through the forest preserve twice every week. Nothing ever happened to us before. But, we were hiking through the woods an it just came out of nowhere."

"What did?"

"Bigfoot. It was really tall and hairy, it almost looked like a person. We ran away and it chased us," she sobbed a bit, "I heard John yell for help, but I was so scared, I just kept running. When I stopped, he was gone." She wiped a tear.

"Alright, thank you for your time, Miss Moore." Sam patted her shoulder and he and Dean let themselves out.

**A/N: Sorry it took so long and there's not much to it, but it's always hard to start a new case. Another up very soon. Thanks in advance for reviewing:) I love you all. **


	17. Your Worst Nightmares

It was getting dark when they were done with the witnesses. They had no location to investigate but the nearby forest preserve, so they decided to go there.

They pulled into the empty parking lot and started towards the forest. It was warm and fog was starting to rise from the moist ground and swirl around the unbelievably tall trees. Both Sam and Dean found the forest somewhat familiar, but since neither could quite place why, neither said anything. They walked somewhat aimlessly down the thin path, Sam waving the EMF detector back and forth.

"Do you really think we'll find anything out here?" Sam asked after a few uneventful minutes.

"Well it's the only lead we've got. Might as well keep looking."

After twenty minutes more of walking, they were deep in the woods. Any light that may be coming from the moon or stars was blocked by heavy foliage. Sam was about to suggest they head back when they heard a loud crack off in the trees. Dean pulled out his gun, "what was that?" It was followed by a loud crunch, whoosh, and thud. A tree being knocked over.

"I'll go check it out." Sam ducked into the trees and ran after the noise that seemed to be destroying a path through the forest.

"Sam!" Dean called after him. He didn't respond. "Son of a bitch," Dean murmured to himself as he started after him. Sam was nowhere to be found. Dean closed his eyes and listened intently. Nothing. He opened his eyes and suddenly found himself in an entirely different part of the forest. His heart started pounding as he realized why this all seemed so familiar.

This was the same forest from Sam's nightmare.

* * *

Sam stopped chasing the noise when he reached a wide clearing. He heard Dean calling after him. He turned to see Dean catch up.

"What the hell, Sam? You can't just go running off."

"Well sorry, I'm just trying to catch this thing."

"I told you not to get separated." Dean was starting to sound angry. "You need to start listening to me."

"Dude, I said I'm sorry. I thought I might be able to catch up to it."

Dean started to angrily advance on him. "You're such a pain in the ass Sam, you know that? I ask you to do one thing, and you can't listen. I'm tired of it."

"What are you talking about? Calm down."

"I am calm. I've been doing my best to be calm the whole time I've been back to save your delicate little feelings. But you know what, I'm angry Sammy. You left me in Hell for nine hundred years. That's a lot of time to think. I just kept going back to how much you slowed me down. You're not even a good hunter, you're just my whiny little brother who can't do what he's told. I kept thinking how much better it would be if you were just dead. I'm done putting on a show for you."

Dean's eyes turned black and he punched Sam as hard as he could across the jaw. He stumbled back a few steps and, before he could see what was happening, was grabbed by the collar and beaten until he was dizzy. He fell to the ground, spitting out the blood collecting in his mouth. His eye was swelling shut and he was pretty sure his nose was broken. He looked up at Dean with shock and horror. Dean landed a hard kick in Sam's gut that sent him rolling before flicking him onto his feet. "At least stand up and fight! Or are you so pathetic you can't even defend yourself?" Another wave of Dean's hand sent him flying against a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, eliciting a cry of pain and the sickening crack of a bone. He crumpled to the ground coughing and trying to catch his breath. The only thought he could process through the pain was that this wasn't Dean as Sam knew him anymore, he'd given in and become another insane and homicidal demon.

Sam was slowly dragged up off the ground, the tree he was pinned to scraping into his back. He was pulled a few feet off the ground then stopped. He forced himself to focus and saw Dean in front of him, open palm supernaturally holding him to the tree.

"Please." He whimpered. "Don't do this. This isn't you."

Dean's mouth stretched into a terrifying smile. "No. Not anymore."


	18. Up To Your Old Tricks

Dean searched frantically, remembering the end of the dream. He ran seemingly in circles. He screamed at the top of his lungs, no response. Then, he remembered how he got around in the dream. He stopped, closed his eyes, and focused just on Sam. Sure enough, he could hear him. Grunts and screams of pain in his head. He focused on them until they became real. He opened his eyes and, there, in a clearing not too far away, he saw Sam pinned to the tree, just like before. He could hear them saying the exact same things as in the dream. As soon as he heard himself, _"not anymore"_, he appeared in the clearing.

"Get the hell away from my brother, you evil son of a bitch." He raised his arm for an attack. The other Dean dropped Sam from the tree and quickly disappeared without a trace. Dean stared for a second before rushing to Sam's side.

"Sammy? You okay? Talk to me."

He only groaned a bit, barely conscious.

"Come on, we're getting you to the hospital." He quickly teleported both of them back to the car, carefully lay Sam in the backseat, and sped off to the hospital.

* * *

Sam woke up groggily. He looked around, slowly taking stock of his surroundings: he was in a hospital room, Dean's jacket was draped over a chair right next to the bed. His arm was in a sling and he was hooked up to a few different machines. He tried to sit up and quickly became aware of a throbbing pain in his head. Dean walked in with two cups of coffee. Sam flinched into the bed.

"Get away from me." He said, wishing he had either somewhere to run or enough strength to fight.

"It's fine," Dean replied, nonchalantly walking across the room and sitting in the chair, "I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me explain." He set one coffee cup on the bedside table and took a sip from the other. Sam watched him warily, not sure whether or not to trust him. Dean went on, "I told them you were mugged. You were here all night, I stayed to make sure you were safe. So I had plenty of time to think about it, and I'm pretty sure this is the trickster. Or _a_ trickster. Lucky us, we already know how to kill them." He pulled a stake out of the bag. "I'll take care of it, you're going to stay here and get better."

Sam still couldn't think straight or focus entirely on what Dean was saying. "You almost beat me to death," he gritted his teeth, "and now you're just going back to the case like nothing happened?"

"That wasn't me. It was the trickster, something he created. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I saved you from it."

Sam nodded, though didn't quite allow himself to relax. "It's not the same one as before. That one wasn't even a trickster anyway. How are we going to find it?"

"I'll figure it out. You have a concussion, a broken nose, and a fractured arm. You're not going anywhere."

"I want to help. I'll be fine."

"Gotta say no, sorry."

"I almost died out there by myself, Dean. Tricksters mess with your mind. We have to be together to keep each other in check."

Dean thought about this for a moment. "Fine," he said finally. "I'll see if I can get them to let you out."

* * *

They were back at the motel within ten minutes. Sam was on his laptop trying to find out how to summon a trickster. Dean was lying on a bed with his palms pressed to his forehead.

"What, exactly, are you doing?"

Dean didn't move. "I'm looking for the trickster."

"How?"

He sat up, "I'm not really sure how it works, but that thing back there — I don't know, but it gave off some sort of energy. So I figure, if I can find that, I can find the trickster. It's hard though, like it's all over the place and I have to find the source. I'm close though, so just give it a bit." He quickly resumed his position.

Sam laughed, "yeah, okay Miss Cleo."

Dean mumbled under his breath, "won't be laughing when I find him."

* * *

About twenty minutes of silence later, Dean sprung to his feet. "Got him, let's go."

"Are we going to actually get there normally?"

"Nope, we're in a hurry." Dean said, just before teleporting them to a random street corner. There were a lot of people walking down that particular sidewalk, the trickster could be any one of them.

"Great, who is it?"

"Hold on." Dean was staring across the street at a woman running with a dog.

"Do you really think this is the time to be scoping out girls?"

"No, just wait." The woman stopped for a quick rest. Nothing unusual. Until a man walked past, staring warily at the dog and sidestepping to avoid it. Suddenly, the dog went nuts; growling and barking at him. The man started running and the dog followed after him.

Instead of watching this happen, Dean started looking around. He found what he was looking for and hit Sam's arm to get his attention.

"What?"

"There." Dean pointed to a man in a formal suit with white-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes leaning against the brick wall of a bookstore not thirty feet away. He had a good vantage point for the incident and looked on with amusement.

They started towards him. Noticing them, he ducked into the nearby alley. Sam and Dean both started running after him and followed him into one of the several abandoned buildings. When they got inside, where the trickster ought to be, it was empty. Both walked farther into the room and the door slammed behind them.

"Why are you following me?" came a voice from behind them. They turned and saw the trickster in a luxurious chair that definitely wasn't there before, sipping from a large mug of tea.

Sam spoke up, "you're the trickster, aren't you?"

"Loki, god of tricks, mischief, fire, deception, and lies, at your service. Anyone makes a reference to the marvel comics, I will make you die a slow and painful death." He said with a genuine smile.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That how you introduce yourself?"

"Lately, yes." Two more chairs appeared. "Come, sit. Let's talk like civilized people. Oh, and leave your stakes over there. I'm not exactly keen on being stabbed today, thank you."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and reluctantly went to sit with him. Dean began, "what are you doing here?"

"Passing time, having fun."

"You call murdering multiple people 'fun'?" Sam asked.

"Yes, loads. Humans are my favorite playthings. You're all so scared of life. So I dig around in people's heads, find what they're most afraid of, and sick it on them." He chuckled a bit. "My favorite part is when they see that what they're afraid of is actually happening."

"Why?"

"Because I have an almost unlimited life span and I get bored. I pick the strangest fears so I get the added bonus of watching the police running around like chickens with their heads cut off." Loki took a long sip of tea before continuing. "Then you two come into town. You really are quite interesting. Been through a lot, yeah? You, Sasquatch," he shot Sam a lopsided grin, "you have almost too many nightmares to sift through. How do you live like that?" He then turned to Dean, "And you're not even human anymore, are you pretty boy?"

"Get out of my head." Dean said angrily.

Loki simply shook his head and closed his eyes. "How does it feel to be Hell's most wanted?" Sam eyed Dean with confusion. Loki opened his eyes and stared at Dean. "When were you planning to tell your brother here why you're being followed? Don't you think he deserves to know?" Another sip of tea. "Funny." He gestured to Sam, "your biggest fear is seeing big bro become a monster," then to Dean, "and yours is letting him see you for the monster you are. It seems I don't even need to interfere here. Good day, gentlemen. I'm sure we will be seeing each other again." With that, he disappeared, chairs and all, leaving Sam and Dean sitting on the floor.

**A/N: Yay drama! Yay long chapter! You know the drill, please review, and I love each and every one of my readers!**


	19. The Truth Will Set You Free

Dean brought them back to the motel as soon as the trickster disappeared. He was rambling, obviously avoiding the subject at hand. "I don't think we'll be able to find him again. Not here at least. We should get moving, anyway. Where to next?"

"Dean."

"How about New York? I've always wanted to go to New York."

"So are we just not going to talk about this? What happened to getting things out in the open?"

"Hey, I already know how you feel about this. We don't have anything to talk about." He started out the door.

Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. "Yes, we do. And you know it."

"Alright, can we at least get on the road first though. Shouldn't stay here too much longer.

They left and were quickly on the road. There was a tense silence and Sam realized that he'd have to speak first.

"So are you going to tell me what he was talking about."

He hesitated, "What first?"

"How about 'Hell's most wanted'?"

"Right." He sighed, "I didn't even really know it until that demon showed up. I guess I should have. I mean, not to blow my own horn but, I'm pretty great. I really had to work to be able to do all that stuff, you know. Figured some new tricks might be helpful when I got topside. Well, turns out it's not supposed to be that easy. It takes most demons a few millennia to do all the things I can. News spreads real fast down there, I gained a lot of respect, quite a few enemies. You really don't want enemies in Hell. They can't kill you, but they have a lot of time to think of new forms of torture. Things that make you wish you could die, and, let me tell you, demons are _really_ inventive. Some found me, and let's just say I took care of them. The rest kind of dropped off the grid after that. I was feeling pretty good, no one could touch me. I was thinking of Hell as a good thing." He looked a bit shameful, "I was pretty much gone for a while there, I was starting to forget what it was like up here and I didn't even care. That was when the big bosses found me. They talked to me about some plan they had to wipe out Humanity. They wanted me to help, said I 'had promise'. They were asking me to _join their side._ I didn't really know why at the time, but I couldn't do it. I sure as hell wasn't going to fight them, so I ran as fast as I could. Kept going until I was all the way out. I guess that probably pissed them off too. Most aren't strong enough to climb out in a hundred years and I did it in twenty. I spent a lot of time just figuring things out, trying to remember why I was still fighting against them. I stayed in Illinois after finding my body and I just caught sight of the impala. It was sheer luck that I found you and it got me back on track. I don't want to know what might have happened..." He trailed off.

Sam didn't really know how to respond, it was a lot to take in. He stammered out, "Dean, I – I mean I didn't –"

"No, you have a right to know. Everything that happened down there, and that's not even the bad stuff, it just doesn't bother me as much as it probably should. It just feels like I've been through so much that nothing worse can happen."

Neither said anything for a long time, just giving Dean's story time to sink in. After a while, Sam realized what he'd said. "Wait, you said the demons had a plan to wipe out humans?"

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"Well why didn't you bring this up before? You didn't think it was important?"

"I was getting to it."

"Getting to it? Dean, this is big. We should have been working on this instead of a bunch of small cases."

"Small cases? There aren't any small cases in our line of work. I kind of wanted to get back to saving people for a bit rather than–" he cut himself short before saying any more about hell, Sam had heard enough for one day. "Whatever. I just knew that we had time. They were talking about it happening in a few decades. Hell time, that means we have a few months. I wasn't hiding this from you. I just wanted things to be normal for a little bit."

Sam had no response. The ride was in silence until Sam finally fell asleep.

**A/N: Short, yet loaded. I'm changing my goal to four every two days. It seems that I'm falling into the pattern of one chapter one day then three the next. Anyway, please review, I love hearing everything you guys have to say! I love you all.**


	20. Choosing Sides

**A/N: Hello and welcome back. Really really sorry for the hiatus. Life getting busy and Lazy Character Syndrome (writer's block) kind of set me back. I didn't want to post a mediocre chapter, especially going into a more complex story line. And sorry it's short. Anyway, it's here now, so enjoy!**

Two weeks and three days later

It was night when he arrived, a cliché of dark and ominous skies, ready to downpour at any moment. He gazed across the empty parking lot from his post just in the shadows of the feeble spread if trees. The place looked innocent enough, a two-story office building with brick walls and far too many windows, closed blinds behind all of them prevented him from seeing inside. Even so, he could feel what lurked there.

Demons. Lots of them. He could feel the strong ones in particular. Recognized the suffocating presence. There were two of those up on the second floor. The other thirty or so ordinary ones were posted at doorways and wandering around inside. Foot soldiers, pawns that thought they had a purpose in the plan aside from bait and strategic sacrifice.

He walked up to the main entrance calmly. The two guards there advanced on him, but were easily thrown out of the way with a flick of his hand. He continued into the building, sauntering with no urgency in the direction of the office which held the strongest demons. Sure, he could have simply appeared in the room, but nonchalantly killing his way through the halls seemed a more dramatic and fitting entrance. He had no problem taking care of these demons, he was exponentially stronger, killing them was as easy as swatting flies.

He finally arrived just outside the door, a trail of bodies in his wake. Rather than open it, he knocked it down without touching it. He knew that he really needed to make an impact on them, the big bosses, after his prior weakness.

Inside, there was a mid-thirties man in a suit seated behind a wooden desk. He was altogether average-looking; brown, cropped hair and a non-threatening, slightly diminutive stature. Perched on the corner of the desk was a woman in black boots and a probably-too-short orange dress, she looked in her late twenties and had shoulder-length straight black hair. Both looked up in surprise when the door fell in and the latter stood to face him. The man sat back and looked at him curiously, then with recognition.

"Ah, it's _you_, isn't it? Dean," he said fondly, "I should have known you'd show up. So, what are you here for? To kill us," he stood and stepped around the desk, "or to join us?"

Dean smirked a bit, eyes glossing over black, "I want in. So do you want me on your side or not?"

The demon grinned and shook his head, "I don't know. You were pretty blunt in turning down our offer before. I don't know if you can handle it."

Dean sighed, "come on, don't mess with me, Marik. Am I in or not? I know you want my help."

The woman, Iris, chimed in, "well we're not so sure you can be trusted. A little birdie told me that you're back with your baby brother." She clicked her tongue in disapproval and started to make a slow circle around Dean, "I hope you're not going back to what you did when you were human. Because if so," she trailed a finger on his shoulder, "we'd have no choice but to end you."

He didn't react further than following her with his eyes. "Believe me. You need me on your team. The newest super-demon," he directed his raven-black eyes on Marik, "I've got a lot to offer. Think about it."

Iris went to stand next to Marik. They exchanged a long look and probably some silent conversation. Marik turned his now deep red-black eyes on Dean, appraising him. He slowly crossed the room to Dean, still calmly standing just inside the door. He outstretched a hand and for a second, Dean thought it was for an attack.

On the contrary, Marik reached for a handshake in true form of the business man he was wearing. Dean grasped it in quick response.

"Welcome to the winning team, Dean Winchester."


	21. But Can He Be Trusted?

Two days earlier

Sam and Dean went on quite a few hunts after the incident with Loki before Sam was able to convince his brother to face up to this demon-plan-thing.

"We should go see Bobby." He said as they headed back east after taking care of a haunting in Cherokee, Iowa (they never did end up going to New York like Dean had hoped). "Sioux Falls isn't far from here."

"Sam, I really don't want to see Bobby. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to see me." He turned up the music playing in the background, only to have Sam switch it off.

"He needs to know about what the demons are planning."

"_I_ don't even know. I got the hell out of Hell as soon as they mentioned it."

"We might not know what, but we know that there _is_ a plan, which is a lot more than we've had before. Bobby has connections, he can warn other hunters who'll warn other hunters."

Dean cut him off, "So let me get this straight, you want to tell every hunter out there to be on the lookout for demons?"

"Well yeah, pretty much. If this is as big as you made it sound, we're going to need all the help we can get."

"And what do you think will happen if we were to, say, run into one of the hundreds of hunters on red-alert for demons? In case you've forgotten, you're kind of in cahoots with one. Somehow I don't think that will end well. For you."

Truthfully, Sam did sometimes forget. It would slip his mind then come as a surprise and reminder whenever Dean's eyes went black or when he used his arsenal of powers during hunts, though these were now common occurrences. "We could use the help, we'll have a much better chance against them with hundreds of hunters rather than just two or three. You said it yourself, no one even needs to know. The we-don't-know-how-he's-alive-but-look-he's-obviously-not-a-demon story with the sugar and water."

Dean shook his head. He was fine with putting himself in the firing line, the worst they could do to him is send him back to hell, but he'd be re-damned if he was going to put Sam in danger. "I don't know. I don't like it."

"Okay. Yeah, it'll be a disaster if anyone finds out, but we'll be careful. You've gotten better at controlling the eye thing, so that won't be a problem. Just don't use any demon tricks around them and it'll be fine. We should at least talk to Bobby."

His automatic reaction was to fight the idea, but he knew it was no use. "Alright, dammit." He mumbled under his breath, "let's go talk to Bobby." He turned his music back on, indicating the end of the conversation.

* * *

They got lunch in Sioux Falls before heading to the outskirts of town to Bobby's. Dean parked the impala to the side of the old house and reluctantly got out. When Bobby answered the door, Sam said simply that they needed to talk. Bobby stepped aside and they walked in, Dean carefully avoiding the devil's trap he knew was painted under the doormat.

"So what is it you want to talk about?"

Sam looked expectantly at Dean, who stepped forward and responded, "the head demons are planning something big."

Bobby crossed his arms and looked at him skeptically, "and you know this how?"

Dean sighed and looked down. "They told me."

"What do you mean they told you?"

"They wanted me to help them." He felt Bobby's sliver of trust start to whittle down and quickly added "I turned them down. Got out of there as fast as I could."

Bobby hesitated, then continued, "so what is it?"

Sam responded, "we're not sure. We just thought we should let you know so you can be ready, maybe tell other hunters so they can be ready too. We have kind of a head start, might as well make the best of it."

Bobby nodded. "I'll spread the word, then. Anything else?"

Dean leaned against a wall and spoke with more confidence, "As far as I know, there's two demons behind all this. Really powerful, really dangerous."

Sam perked up at the new information, "Lilith powerful?"

"Sort of, but different. They have status. There's a sort of hierarchy in Hell. Lots of different top dogs, six to be exact, all pretty bad news. Lilith was more like a princess: first demon, Lucifer's lap dog. Everybody hated her but knew better than to stand up to her. Azazel was kind of the human expert, spent a lot of time up top so no one really had an opinion of him. Alistair is head of the torture unit. Not going to go into that but let's just say he has a bad reputation for a good reason. Crowley: king of the crossroads. Cocky bastard, but not too bad. And last but not least, Marik and Iris. They're real close, always work together. They were probably brother and sister, but you can't really tell. They're celebrities down under. Think of themselves as 'freedom fighters'. More like elitists; they hate anything that's not a demon, humans especially. That's who we're up against.

"When any of the bosses starts something, everyone else comes running to either back them or fight them, but the other big guns usually don't get involved unless there's some personal gain. They were just getting started when they came to talk to me. I guess I was working my way up the ladder for a while, gained some status, so I was their first recruit. They said 'revolution', I said 'hell no' and now here we are."

Sam and Bobby were both staring at him, not sure whether to be concerned or impressed. Sam piped up, "that's... a lot."

"I was there for quite a while, you get to know your hell mates pretty well. Everyone knows about the head demons. Distinguishing features for these two: they both usually possess people that won't attract attention. Marik always a man, Iris always a woman. Their eyes look almost like normal demons but Marik's are slightly red, Iris's are slightly purple. And that's about everything I know."

Sam nodded. "So we know what to watch out for."

"But we still don't know what they're doing." Bobby added.

There was a pause, then Dean broke the silence. "I could find out."

"How?"

"Well I'm one of them, aren't I? I could play double agent, see what they're up to."

"No," Bobby said immediately. Dean knew what they must be thinking, that it was a ploy to actually join the demons, betray the minimal trust he'd worked so hard to gain.

"You can trust me, Bobby. If I was on their side, do you really think I'd be here, telling you all this?"

Neither of them responded. Dean shook his head, annoyed at the complete lack of trust. "Thought you might give me a little more credit than that. Whatever. You can handle it however you want, I'm out." With that, he disappeared.

**A/N: Still getting back in the habit of writing a lot. This would have been up sooner, but I had some technical difficulties. Anyway, please review! Love you :)**


	22. Feel Like A Brand New Man

The second Dean left, Sam ran outside while Bobby stayed where he was, looking around bewildered. He hadn't seen any of what Dean could do aside from what happened with the Jikininki a while back, so the disappearing act caught him by surprise. Sam returned shortly, looking flustered.

"Didn't take the car, so he could be anywhere by now."

"Christ, what else can that boy do?"

"As far as I know, everything Lilith could short of blowing up a building. He's going to go after those demons. We need to find him." Sam was ready to leave any second.

"Alright just hold on a minute, we don't even know where he is. You said he could be anywhere. And if he really doesn't want us to find him, he could be anyone. We can't just run out and expect to find him."

"He's not going to possess anyone, he knows better."

"You thought he knew better than to go running off too. We're not goin' anywhere yet, so just calm down." Sam sat heavily on the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all calm. Bobby continued, "look, I care about Dean just as much as you do and I don't want him getting into any trouble, but he's bein' reckless and who knows what he might do. Hate to say it, but we don't have room to get all emotional about this, we gotta handle it just like anything else."

Sam sighed and nodded, "you're right. Where do we start?"

...

Dean ended up in some random small town in Texas. He could tell that Marik and Iris weren't out yet, so he just sat back and waited for them to show up. It wouldn't be long.

He knew that leaving probably wasn't a great idea, but he also knew that they stood little to no chance unless they knew what to expect. Going from the inside was the only way to get a one-up on them. He had to leave because Sam and Bobby would have never let him go with the demons, they were still afraid that Dean was going to go berserk and turn on them.

Truth be told, a small part of Dean was worried about the same thing. He remembered what happened when he lost it before. He knew that the things he did should horrify him but, buried deep down, he'd enjoyed the power he'd felt, and that's what scared him the most. Being with Sam was the main thing keeping him grounded.

But now he'd made the decision to play double agent, so he couldn't let Bobby and Sam find him. They'd get in the way and it would be too dangerous. Marik and Iris hated humans and wouldn't think twice about snapping each of their necks. No, this was a job to do alone.

First order of business, he couldn't stay looking like Dean Winchester, for a number of reasons. First, he needed to be well hidden from Sam and Bobby, who'd be looking for him, what he looked like now. Second, it was more than likely that the FBI were back on his trail after they were busted in Dayton and the last thing he needed was to be tailed by the cops while also playing badass demon, he didn't need to rack up his charges any more. Third, Sam and Bobby were more than likely to follow through with Sam's plan to warn as many hunters as possible. Meaning, if he was going to keep hunting after this was all over, he'd have to maintain the human charade with other hunters; a hard thing to do after being caught 'working with' the demons trying to wipe out humanity. The simple fact of the matter: he needed a new body. He never wanted to possess anyone, but he needed living memories if we was to keep his head down. Also, people would definitely notice a recent John Doe walking around, especially in such a small town. A corpse just wouldn't do this time.

He first used his knife to break the possession lock tattoo then headed to a seedy bar when it got late and scoped out the most miserable-looking drunk. It didn't take long to find the perfect person: about thirty years old, tall, short light brown hair, good muscle build, a bit of stubble haphazardly sprinkled over his chin, and bags under his eyes. He was sitting alone at the very end of the bar staring blankly at his beer bottle. Dean went and sat down next to him and started conversationally, "Hey man. What's got you down?"

The man didn't look up when he responded in a half slur, half drawl, "Look, buddy, I'm not really in the talkin' mood, so if you could just go away, that'd be great."

Dean was undiscouraged, "that bad, huh? What is it? Girlfriend? Family? Job? Come on." He figured it would be easy to coax information out of this man who was already pretty drunk.

He chuckled a bit and took a sip of beer, "Ain't got no family. Fiancée left me 'cause I drink too much. Lost my job the same way."

"Life's looking down, huh?" He nodded and took another long swig. Dean saw his opportunity and pounced at it. "What if I told you that you could be the most important man in the world? You'd just need to do one thing."

"I'd say sign me up. I got nothin' to lose."

Dean grinned at his luck. "Well it's your lucky day. Come with me." The man's alcoholically and emotionally impaired judgement worked in Dean's favor. He shakily followed Dean out of the bar's back door and into the alleyway. He stopped when he was sure there was no one else around and turned to the man, slightly nervous as to what he was about to do.

"Look at me, because I'm being completely serious." The man nodded, starting to look wary of his situation. "I wasn't exaggerating, you will be the most important man on earth if you do this, but you have to be sure."

He smiled widely, as if anticipating a punch line. "What I gotta do?"

Dean's eyes switched to black. He was done stalling. "Just don't run away."

The man instantly sobered and his eyes widened as black smoke violently rushed out of Dean's mouth. He staggered back a few steps as the smoke moved towards him. It shoved itself down his throat and his body went limp, collapsing next to Dean's.

**A/N: Back in the writing groove. Hope you liked it, and if so, please review! I love you all.**


	23. To Be Or Not To Be

**A/N: Bold italics are Dean's thoughts, italics are his host's. **

It was an odd feeling, being in someone else's head. Dean hadn't taken control of the body yet, he wanted to reason with this poor soul first. He wasn't about to just push his consciousness aside and take over. The only way he could justify possessing someone was if he got their permission. He erased all impairments from the alcohol and the other man's soul came to the surface. Dean could hear his frantic and disoriented thoughts.

'_What the hell's going on? What happened?'_

Dean bluntly told him the truth.**_'I'm a demon, and I need a body.' _**He let that sink in for a second before continuing. **_'You don't need to be afraid, I'm not like most. I promise you'll get out of this alive and I'll give you your body back as soon as possible.'_**

He could feel that the man panic a bit,_ 'a-a-a demon?' He stammered nervously, 'Seriously? So, what? Am – am I possessed?'_

'**_You will be. I just need you to sign off on your body for a while. Anyway, you said you had nothing to lose, right Ted?' _**He pulled the name from the man's head.

'_Right. Nothing to lose...'_

_'_**_You'll be safe. You can be conscious if you want, but most people don't like to not be in control.'_**

He was pensively silent for a moment, then directed a thought at Dean, '_Go head, then. Do what you gotta do.'_

**_'Thank you.'_**

Dean slowly gained control of his new body. He stood and stretched, adjusting to being taller and altogether larger. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his throat. "Nice," he said, testing his new voice. He then turned to his own body laying on the ground. He'd have to take care of that. Before doing anything else, he removed his gun, knives, lock picks and miscellaneous other items from his jacket and transferred them to his new outfit. He pulled out a pen and and used it to draw a new possession lock on his left forearm.

'_What's that?'_

Dean wasn't too surprised that Ted had decided to stay conscious, he had a strong will. He was glad for it, too. A constant human presence in his head would keep him on track. Plus, he may make good company.**_ 'Call it insurance.' _**He then bent over his body, drawing multiple demon-repelling symbols on it. Ted watched questioningly while he was drawing.

Dean noticed and grinned to himself.**_ 'Curious one, aren't you? It's to make sure no other demons can get to this body. I'm planning to come back to it.'_**

_'Well why'd you leave it anyway? Why do ya need me?'_

This refreshed Dean's guilt about both leaving Sam and possessing this guy, two things he told himself he'd never do. **_'I'm protecting people who're too stupid to know I'm protecting them.'_** He felt Ted's discomfort and reassured him,**_ 'I didn't kill this guy, by the way. He was already dead. You don't have anything to worry about.' _**He didn't respond. Dean finished drawing the symbols and stashed the pen away. He then slung his body over his shoulder and teleported to a place he knew it'd be safe: his grave site. Ted was disoriented by the sudden shift. **_'You'll get used to that.'_** Dean commented as he went about digging up his grave. The soil was already loose from when he'd previously dug out, so he just psychically flung it aside. He plopped his body and a hex bag into the hole and re-covered it. It was a pretty eerie feeling, burying himself.**_ 'One more time' _**he warned before teleporting back to Texas. He appeared at the door to Ted's house and walked in. It wasn't too bad, a bit cramped: one floor, one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living room. However small, it was homey and, aside from a few beer cans here and there, pretty clean. There was a cardboard box just inside the door, probably filled with his ex's belongings.

Ted spoke up again as Dean perused the house._ 'Are all demons this well-mannered? Cause far as I can tell, bein possessed ain't all that bad.'_

Dean laughed out loud at his assessment. **_'Believe me when I say, you got a real lucky draw when it comes to demons. Anyone else would have killed you by now. Or worse. A popular one is making you watch while you torture and kill innocent people. Normally, it'd be a lot worse.'_**

_'So why're you so different?'_

Dean had to think about this for a moment. **_'Because I don't like monsters. I hunted them for a living, and it just so happened that I became one.'_**

'_Well I wouldn't say so.'_

He chuckled, **_'you don't know me.'_**

Ted said no more and just became kind of dormant while Dean pored over whether and police reports on Ted's old laptop, looking out for any demonic omens.

**A/N: Please review! And a big shout out to my regular reviewers, I always look forward to your reactions :) . Love you! **


	24. And The Race Is On

Dean decided to just keep his head down until Marik and Iris reared theirs. There'd be a lot of energy given off when two demons as strong as them popped out. He would be able to find them before there were even any omens, giving him a little head start before Bobby and Sam came running.

He hardly had to wait, however. Around noon the very next day, he felt them. Though definitely far away, the energy released was unmistakable. He traced it to somewhere in Denver, Colorado, but decided to wait a bit and give them time to get bodies, set up shop, and gather their foot soldiers before showing up. Demonic omens would start popping up in a few hours, it could take Sam and Bobby up to a day or so after that to track them down if he was lucky and they could be there in another half a day. So he figured he had two days at the most to gain Marik and Iris's trust, join in, get all the information, and find a way out. He may be able to take on one, but trying to take them both by himself would be suicide. He would have to find a way to bail without raising suspicion, he really didn't need them on his ass when he went tattling to Sam and Bobby. That would mean a slow and painful death sentence.

He was musing on this when Ted spoke up again. '_What're you waitin for, exactly?'_

Up to that point, Dean hadn't shared any of his plan. Seeing as it was about to be put in action, he figured it was due time.

_**'I'm technically in hiding right now, but I'm going to get moving soon.'**_

_'Movin where?'_

_**'Colorado. I'm going after some other demons.'**_

_'They like you too?'_

Dean shook his head slightly with a chuckle. **_'Not at all. These ones are bad. Real bad. Real monsters. I'm going to join them then turn on them and try not to get either of us killed in the process.'_**

Ted thought about this. _'Why?' _ Was all he said, he was getting used to Dean's cryptic answers.

'**_Saving the world,' _**Dean responded with humor thinly covering an undertone of grave seriousness,**_ 'why else?'_**

* * *

Sam and Bobby had no luck to speak of. It was essentially impossible to track down Dean even when he didn't have an arsenal of demon powers at his disposal to throw them off. He obviously didn't want to be found, therefore Sam and Bobby wouldn't be able to find him. All they could do was look for the same thing he was: Marik and Iris. They watched out for demonic omens, ruling out anything too small; two very powerful demons showing up at the same time with an army in tow would give of a hell of a lot more omens than just an electrical storm.

It had been two days since Dean had left and Sam was getting restless. He was starting to think that searching aimlessly for Dean would yield better results when Bobby spoke up.

"Denver, Colorado. Crazy weather patterns, power outages, and at least thirty people gone missing. All within the last twelve hours. I think we got 'em. Sure aren't being discreet about any of this."

Sam sprung up from his chair. "We should get going then."

"You go. I still have hunters to warn, lots I have to talk to in person. Can you handle this?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? Remember, don't get all emotional. Just do what you gotta do. If you have to, get Dean back here and we'll figure something out. I'll catch up with you if I can."

"I got it Bobby."

"Okay."

Sam drove away in the impala. It was so late that it was also early, and he hadn't gotten any sleep in a few days, but he wanted to get there as soon as possible; it'd still take a while without stopping at all. Sam was worried about not only what Marik and company had planned, but also what Dean may do. He felt terrible for not trusting his own brother, but he couldn't help it, especially after his most recent Hell story. How he'd lost it and went full blown demon. Sam was terrified that that might happen again and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Yeah, Bobby had suggested locking him in the safe room, but he hadn't seen what Dean was capable of. If he didn't want to be caught, Sam probably wouldn't be able to catch him. The only thing he could do now was hope for the best.

**A/N: Sorry about the relatively slow updates. Please review anyway? I love you all. :)**


	25. Highway To Hell

About six hours after Marik and Iris appeared on Dean's radar, he decided to finally pay them a visit. He stood up from the worn recliner in Ted's living room and stretched a bit before disappearing, headed to the precise spot in Denver. It was an office building off a backroad, somewhat secluded, though one could still hear the noise of the highway. Feeling the multiple demons inside, he concealed himself in the small stand of trees that, along with the darkness, actually provided decent cover.

He warned Ted before continuing, **_'you're probably not gonna want to watch this.'_**

_'...Why?' _He asked tentatively.

Dean again went for a blunt and truthful answer, as that seemed to be the easiest way to explain things in this situation.**_ 'Because there's a lot of demons in there, and they can be pretty unpredictable. There might be things in there you don't want to see.' _**True, but not the real reason. He tried again,**_ 'And, truthfully, I'm going to do some things you might not want to watch.'_**

_'Things like what?' _He asked even more warily.

_**'Trust me, you'd be better off not knowing.'**_

_'It's my body, I wanna know what's happening,'_ he responded, determined. '_Now what're you gonna do?'_

Dean sighed inwardly. **_'By my standards, nothing too bad. By yours, I'm not so sure. Just remember that it's demons that I'll be killing. If their hosts are still alive, I'll make sure they get out. It could get pretty intense, though. If you really want to stay conscious, I'm not going to stop you, but don't say I didn't warn you.'_**

Ted didn't back down. _'Go ahead.' _He said finally, making clear that he had no intention to leave.

**_'Remember, I'm the good guy here. I figure you aren't a monster if you only kill for the sake of innocent people.'_** He said, more to reassure himself than to reassure Ted. Dean set his expression and posture into the casual yet threatening demeanor demons normally wore and started towards the building. The two demons guarding the main entrance didn't even get a chance to attack him. The second they started to move towards him, he flung them against opposite concrete pillars with little more than a flick of his wrist. He was briefly surprised and amused at how easy it was to just throw them out of the way. In fact, he felt much stronger in general now than he had before. He thought perhaps it had something to do with actually having a live host. He continued inside.

The place was unexceptional. Grey speckled carpeting and white walls lined a maze of hallways with doors to various offices and conference rooms on either side. The only distinguishing feature about it was that, rather than tax attorneys or whoever worked here, the place was crawling with demons. Dean passed one on his way in and, determined to cause some commotion, quickly turned and attacked him. A wave of Dean's hand slammed the man into the wall, a bit harder than he had intended. He effortlessly held the struggling demon still and, determining that the human it was riding was still alive, tightly clenched his fist. With his newfound strength and control, he was easily able to target and kill only the demon. It let loose a bloodcurdling scream before dying in a flash of orange light.

Dean let the body fall to the floor with a small smile, starting to feel somewhat giddy with power. Ted's contrasting shock and horror sobered him. He calmly addressed this before continuing.

**_'Told you it wouldn't be pretty.' _**

'_I-is he dead?'_

**_'The demon is. The guy's just unconscious. He'll probably be a bit scarred, but he'll live.' _**Feeling Ted's unease, he added **_'it's not too late to back out. That one got off easy because the guy was still alive, but I'm warning you now, you won't want to see what I do to the ones that kill their hosts. Like I said, I really don't like monsters.'_**

His harsh and serious tone finally got through to Ted. His consciousness slowly faded away and Dean continued through the halls. The first demon's scream must have attracted the others' attention: ten or so came running. The end of a vicious flurry of fighting found only Dean left standing, a gleeful and menacing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and a gleam in his black eyes, surrounded on all sides by bodies.

Most others were finished off similarly, quickly so as not to harm the humans who were still alive and kicking. Three of the demons he came across, however, were alone in their meat suits. Killed their hosts for full control. He took great pleasure in giving these ones a special treatment before sending them to Hell to spread the word: Dean Winchester is back. He thought that perhaps regaining his respect in Hell would make the demons stop trailing him, and there was one sure fire way to gain respect in Hell: fear. He already had a reputation, he just had to rekindle it after dropping off the map for a few decades.

Through all of this, Dean had to also fight to remember his objective. He fought to look past the exhilarating feeling of using his powers to their full potential and stay on track. He reviewed the plan as he stood in front of the last door, knowing full well that there was no turning back now. Already, he could feel himself start to slip. He was starting to struggle to stay grounded. To keep his humanity even though he had to act like the full blown demon he briefly was. It was like a drug: he'd tasted it once and loved it, but he sobered up. Now it was being waved in front of his face. He knew he couldn't take it, but a large part of him wanted nothing more. The plan: get in, get info, get out. As fast as possible so that Sam wouldn't have a chance to get there. Keep Sammy safe. That one thought kept him on track. He took a calming breath, consciously switched his eyes back to normal, and knocked down the door.

He only half paid attention to his conversation with the other two demons. Meanwhile, he just fought to stay on track, repeating in his head: **_get in get info get out get in get info get out get in get info get out. Keep Sammy safe. _**When he spoke, his voice surprised him. Ted's voice. Deep tones and a thick southern vernacular. **Remember Ted, keep Ted alive **he reminded himself. By this, he managed to hold on**.**

Five minutes and forty-two seconds later, he had officially joined Marik and Iris's cause.


	26. A Demon That I Used To Know

It was around one in the afternoon when Sam rolled into Denver. He was exhausted, but he couldn't waste time on sleep; Dean had been gone for almost three days. He'd probably found Marik and company by now, which meant any number of things: he could be dead, he could be back in hell, he could even (though he didn't like to think about it) be helping them. The thought made him sick, the very real possibility of Dean actually joining the demons made Sam even more rushed to find him. Bobby had told him about what he got out of one of the demons he'd interrogated: the side Dean is on will be the winning one. Sam could only hope that he was still on the humans' side. He stopped for a quick lunch and a cup of coffee before setting up shop in a cheap motel.

He immediately resumed his research, poring over police reports for the last few days, current news, whether, and any other resource he could think of. His tireless work finally paid off when he uncovered a large amount of power surges just south of the Central Business District. One block of buildings had no power since around five o'clock the day before, the same time the demonic omens all started showing up. When he cross checked this with the missing persons reports, Sam found that all of them had disappeared within a five mile radius of the place. He finished off his coffee and was quickly out the door.

It took no more than 45 minutes to get there. There seemed to be no one around, though all of the buildings looked pretty well kept. It was a small area, so he decided to investigate on foot. He gathered the essentials (box of salt, bottle of holy water, the salt gun, Ruby's knife, and the Colt just in case) from the trunk and started on the nearest building.

It was a large brick structure with few windows. Sam approached it cautiously, pistol in one hand, flashlight in the other. The polished steel door swung open easily to reveal a single room filled with cubicles. The entrance's poor vantage point along with the power outage prevented him from seeing into any of the small compartments, only the light grey walls, row after row. As he tentatively advanced into the narrow aisle between cubicles, he suddenly became aware of the smell of rotting eggs: sulfur. Demons had definitely been here.

Taking a few more steps, he could finally see into the first few cubicles. He shined the flashlight into the one on his left, revealing a figure bent over the desk. Looking closer, he found that she was dead, throat slit. He looked through the others and found a similar case in each, some necks snapped, some throats slit, some slightly mangled, some torn beyond recognition. They couldn't have been there long if the police hadn't found this scene yet. Having seen more than enough, he moved on.

It was the same story for the next two buildings, everyone was dead. It looked like Marik and Iris set their foot soldiers loose on a killing spree, and it was likely that no one had gotten out alive or unpossessed.

Sam then reluctantly advanced on the largest building in the area, a two-story office building with brick walls and an over dramatic canopy suspended by two concrete pillars over the large glass doors of the front entrance. Finding nothing unusual outside, he slowly walked in. On the surface, the place looked completely normal, but it reeked of sulfur and was oddly the only building that seemed to have backup power.

He stored his flashlight away and started into the hallway, immediately finding the first body slumped against a wall. As he got closer, he could see the man's chest subtly rise and fall. He was still alive. There was definitely something wrong here. Every other human he'd come across had been killed in horrible ways, yet this one had been spared. Sam splashed a bit of holy water on him with no reaction then decided to leave him be for now, no time to waste.

Turning a corner, he found no less than ten bodies sprawled across the floor. He inspected each like the first, check for life, then a sprinkle of holy water. All of them were alive and demon-free. He hoped that this was Dean's work and not some kind of trap.

Continuing through the maze of hallways, Sam found a trail of bodies, all alive and unconscious. There were about five more like this before he got to a different one. This one was definitely dead, looking as though he'd imploded. Blood was spilling out of his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears and his chest was caved in. He found only two others like this in following the trail of bodies to the top floor.

The stairwell led to one hallway. A few more bodies led to one room at the end. The door was on the ground and Sam could hear voices coming from inside. They stopped immediately when he started towards the room.

"My my, I think we have a visitor." One said quietly, then called to Sam, "Come on out, don't be shy." Sam didn't budge.

Then a female voice called out, more forcefully. "Come on, we're waiting." Sam suddenly felt himself being pulled towards the door by some unseen force. He was pressed against the wall just in front of the broken-down door. He could see two people inside, a man and a woman, obviously possessed. The woman was standing closest to the door, holding Sam tothe wall. She gave a wide smile. "Hello dear, so kind of you to drop in." Her eyes faded to a purple-tinted black as she raised a hand to snap his neck. Sam panicked and struggled.

"Wait," an unseen voice said suddenly. Sam didn't recognize it, a deep bass with a strong southern accent. Iris turned away from Sam to look, confusedly, to the right of the door, just out of his view. "Lemme see him."

Iris glanced at Sam then turned back to the voice, nodded, and stepped aside. The speaker slowly moved in front of the door, hands casually shoved in his pockets, and looked at Sam, a threatening half-grin stretching across his face. He turned to the other two, who were watching him curiously. "Think you could give me a moment with this one." Looking back at Sam, "I believe we have a bit of unfinished business to attend to."

"Fine," the other man responded. "Just don't let him get away."

His eyes turned black as he turned back to the other two demons, "Trust me, I won't."

**A/N: Dun dun dunnnn. Please review! I love you all. :)**


	27. All Part Of The Plan

Dean teleported both of them to the back of some building, far enough away from Marik and Iris to avoid being seen or heard. Sam, now unbound, quickly pulled out his knife and stood at the ready, eyeing him warily.

_'That Sammy?' _Ted inquired.

'**_Yeah, that's Sammy.' _**

_'You're right, he does need a haircut.' _

Dean grinned a little at that. Immediately after officially joining Marik and Iris, Dean had pulled Ted's consciousness back to the surface and explained his entire plan in detail, which also meant quite a bit of background on Dean's previous life: everything from what he did for a living to how he became like this.

He turned to Sam, annoyance obvious in his voice. "Oh put the knife down, I'm not gonna hurt you. It's me."

"Dean?" He lowered the knife a bit. "You possessed someone?"

Dean ignored his shock. "What the hell were you _thinking_, Sammy? Waltzing in there like that. You almost got yourself killed! You shouldn't have come looking for me."

Sam looked incredulous, "you disappear and you expect me _not_ to go looking for you?"

Dean took a few steps forward, now able to look his brother in the eye. "I'm trying to protect you and you're making it pretty damn hard. You have no idea what you're up against."

"And you do?"

"Yes, I do. I know these two. They're planning genocide. You probably found what they did to all those people." Sam nodded a bit. "That was with only thirty demons, just a peek at what might happen. They want to jailbreak all of Hell. I find out how, we might be able to stop it but I _need_ you to trust me!"

Sam was quiet for a moment. "And this guy you're wearing, how does he feel about all of this? Or do you not even care that he'll probably be killed in the middle of it. That's an innocent person, Dean."

"His name's Ted. And this is just temporary. I explained everything to him, he's fine with it."

"Oh really?" Sam said, doubtfully.

"Don't believe me, take it from him." His eyes closed and head dropped. '**_Your turn.' _**He told Ted.

'_I get my body back?'_

_'__**For now, it's all yours.'**_

Dean receded and put him behind the wheel, watching from the background.

Ted stretched and moved around a bit, enjoying the feeling of being back in control. "It is great to finally meet you, Sammy. Dean here talks about you all the time."

Sam looked unsure about how to react. He stored the knife back in his jacket. "Um, nice to meet you too. I guess. You're really alright with this?"

He nodded, "absolutely. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was pretty freaked out at first, but how else are ya supposed to feel when there's a demon in your head? But your brother, he's a real stand-up guy, even asked permission first. And he really cares about you. You should at least trust him a little. I'm trustin him with my life."

'**_Stop, I'm blushing.'_** Dean commented teasingly.

_'Hush up, I'm savin your smokey ass.'_

"He promised to get me out alive, even though my life ain't worth much. Miserable old alky when he found me, but after this, I think I'm gonna straighten up. S'probly blasphemy sayin it about a demon," _'no offense.'_

'**_None taken' _**

"But he really is a good guy. And he's got this whole thing worked out."

Sam was a bit shocked. He was more used to seeing demons' hosts beg for mercy or break down because of what the demons made them do, whereas Ted talked about Dean like an old friend. He spoke hesitantly, "Could I, uh, talk to Dean again? Please?"

Ted shrugged, "Sure." He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

'**_Thanks, Ted.'_**

'_Sure thing. Well go on now, he wants to talk to you.' _

Dean took over again and looked up at Sam. "Well how about that?"

"Just because he's fine with it doesn't make it right."

"I think it makes it okay. I really like Ted, he's a nice guy. Real accepting about all this."

"Dean, I — I'm sorry."

"Save it. Like I said, I don't expect full trust, I'm not delusional. It just hurts a little that a random stranger can trust me, but my own brother can't. But Ted, he's an innocent human in the middle of this. I've been in his head for the last few days, he kinda has to know what's going on. So if you won't take my word for it, at least take his."

Sam responded only with a little nod, avoiding eye contact.

"Alright. Now go back to Bobby's or back to the motel, just don't get in Marik and Iris's path again. I'm real close, and when I get everything, I'll find a way out, I'll give Ted his body back, and I'll come find you. We can finish these evil bastards once and for all. But go on. Get lost." He finished with a smile.

Sam responded with a grin of his own and a small chuckle, "jerk."

"Bitch."

With that, Sam was teleported back to the impala and was quickly on his way back to the motel.

Dean, on the other hand, had to make an extra stop before returning. He went into the massacred call center a few buildings over from Marik and Iris's base.

'_**This is going to be pretty unpleasant.'**_

_'I'll take your word for it this time,' _Ted said, fading into unconsciousness with no argument. Dean walked over to the third cubicle to the right. Its occupant was particularly mangled and the sight was off-putting, even for Dean, but he needed to look convincing. He thoroughly coated his hands in the dark liquid pooled on the desk and flicked some on his face and clothing. He walked out of the building before waking Ted.

'**_Now, this isn't as bad as it looks.' _**Dean assured him, bringing attention to his blood-soaked hands. **_'You were only out for about a minute. I didn't kill anyone, I just need it to look like I did.'_**

'_I believe you.' _He responded, though obviously disturbed by all the blood.

Dean then switched his eyes to black and teleported back to the office, nonchalantly wiping his bloody hands on his white shirt.

"Satisfied?" Marik asked when he appeared.

Dean smiled widely. "Very." Then, to Ted, added, '_**I'll pay for a new shirt.' **_

_'Thanks.'_

"Now, should we get back to work?"


	28. Betrayal

"Back to work?" Iris said, raising an eyebrow and jabbing a finger at Dean, who remained stoic. "You got rid of all of our work when you showed up."

"Guess I got a bit excited." Dean said with a smirk.

She was sounding increasingly annoyed. "Do you know how hard it was to get just that many demons out?"

"Calm down." Marik said, halfheartedly trying to be the voice of reason.

Iris angrily turned to him, lowering her voice slightly. "Calm down? This idiot blunders in and destroys years of hard work and you actually want to keep him here? Anyone else does that, they're dead on the spot, so why not just kill him now?"

"Iris, stop." He responded calmly. "We need him. You know that."

"What we need is an army, and we're down the only soldiers we had _because_ of him."

"Wait a minute, _you two_ could only scrape up thirty demons?" Dean asked with humor and a tinge of confusion.

"Yeah, well border control's a lot more strict since you got loose so fast," Iris shot at him, then turned back to Marik. "He's irresponsible and he's a liability. You get rid of him, or I will."

"I'd like to see you try." Dean pitched in with laugh. "Don't get on my bad side, sweetheart. I'm sure you remember what happened to Alistair." He said with a deadly smile.

Dean's claim to fame. When he finally snapped and lost his careful control, lost his humanity entirely, he immediately went after the one who'd tortured him all those years and had ultimately turned him into a monster: Alistair. He had gotten the full force of Dean's cocktail of pent up pain, frustration, and vicious anger along with his newfound cruel imagination and lack of mercy. This was mainly what caught the attention of the other head demons (and the rest of Hell, for that matter). Dean still couldn't bring himself to feel any shred of remorse for what he'd done, even though at the same time he knew he should never forgive himself for doing it to another soul. At least now, he could use it as leverage for authority.

Iris backed down. She seated herself behind the desk and tried to look stoic, though Dean could distinctly feel some equal amounts of hatred, fear, and respect, pretty much the reaction he was hoping for.

He turned to Marik, "so what's the big plan to rally the troops?"

Marik refocused on Dean, also trying to appear aloof. "Well we had those thirty, and we have half of hell on our side already, we just need to get them out."

"And..."

"And what?"

Dean scoffed lightly, "you're new to this, aren't you?"

"You are too." Marik said, looking slightly offended.

Dean chuckled, "This ain't exactly my first rodeo. I stopped things like this for a living, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about. So do you actually have a jailbreak plan, or are you just spitballing it and hoping you come up with something?" Marik gulped and said nothing. Dean shook his head in disappointment, "alright kids, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once: an army isn't going to just come to you. You have to go get them. You jumped the gun and left before you actually had a plan or any backup, and you really do need backup. I know for a fact that every hunter out there is looking for you now, and you're being pretty sloppy. You can't just kill any human that crosses your path, that gives hunters a big red sign and a trail of bodies leading right to your door."

"And why should we worry about a couple humans running around with guns?" Iris pitched in.

"Don't underestimate them," Dean said seriously, "because they can and will kill you, especially with how many there are after you. I'd say that if you want a 'revolution', you get back down there and lead it. Go get the demons together then get them all out. Me, I'll stay here and gather whoever's already up top."

"Why you?" Marik asked.

"Because I know how things work up here. I've been here longer and I remember how to act human, avoid suspicion. Plus I know exactly how hunters work, I can get the job done without getting myself killed."

"And we're just supposed to leave you up here?" Iris asked, leaning her elbows on the desk. "Sorry, but I'm not really happy about leaving Hell's most famous demon slayer to gather demons."

"Aw, don't you trust me?" Dean said with a sarcastic puppy-dog face.

"No," she responded, standing up, "and for a good reason too. You—"

"Save it." Marik cut her off, "it's a good plan. You go and I'll stay here," he glanced at Dean, "keep things under control."

Iris measured her options for a moment. "Fine," she decided, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't do anything stupid."

With that, she left her host with a violent rush of smoke and disappeared through the floorboards.

**_'If you want, now would be the time to hide.'_** Dean warned Ted, who'd been watching quietly and somewhat uneasily.

'_What're you gonna do?'_

_'__**You don't need to know.' **_He said. Ted quickly faded, recognizing the seriousness behind the thought.

"So how are we going to gather everyone on the surface?" Marik asked.

Dean chuckled a bit. "We're not."

"What?"

"I just said that to get rid of that bitch Iris." He suddenly flung Marik at the wall hard enough to break a hole into the next room then pinned him to the ground in the rubble. He crouched over the writhing and panicking demon with a small and frightening smile, "she was right though, you really shouldn't be trusting me. Remember, Hell's most famous demon slayer?" He loosed a low, maniacal laugh, "oh, this is going to be fun."

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait again. I've been on vacation and couldn't really find much time or inspiration. Updates will pick up again, I promise. Please review! I love you all. **


	29. Cleanup Crew

Dean found it quite a bit harder to hold him still, Marik was more or less a match for him, but had been at the disadvantage of being taken off guard. He struggled as Dean stalled dramatically, cracking his knuckles and pacing around him. "So, here's how it's going to go: I'm not going to kill you."

Marik's face was contorted with a mix of anger and fear. He started to say something, but Dean quickly pinched together his thumb and index finger, silencing him.

"Shhh. You know, it's not nice to interrupt. It's really nothing personal, Marik, I just don't take well to monsters like you. Genocide? You really thought you could get away with that? Sorry, I can't let that happen. Call it a flaw, but I tend to prefer humans to mindless hell spawn. Like I was saying: I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to kill Iris, then every other good-for-nothing demon unlucky enough to cross me." He crouched down next to Marik's head. "But you're special: you're going to be my warning. Alistair, he was just practice. I can do so much more now."

Dean extended a hand over Marik's face and closed his eyes, focusing all of the energy not invested in holding him still on ripping the demon out of the body. Marik's mouth was forced open as smoke rushed out. It was the same deep red-black as his eyes had shown and crackled with electricity. He immediately tried to escape through the window, but Dean just pulled him back. The pure demon was now trapped in an invisible ball, billowing in anger and projecting thoughts into Dean's head.

_"You arrogant bastard. You think you're all high and mighty just because you save a few stupid humans, but you're no better than the rest of us. You killed thirty of your own kind in cold blood."_

"Oh I've done a lot more than that."

_"Then why is it that you think you're so different? Why are humans' lives worth so much more to you than ours? Like it or not, you _are_ one of us."_

"Your life is worth nothing to me." Dean responded gravely. He swiped a finger through the thick red smoke, siphoning a good amount of energy from it. Dean could hear Marik's grunts of pain and yells of protest, but paid no attention. He was too busy reveling in the sudden rush of power. It wasn't much, but it did feel good. When the feeling wore off, Dean ran his whole hand through, eliciting a mental scream from Marik. He was rewarded with that same overpowering, euphoric feeling as with Alistair and, more recently, killing all those demons.

He continued to take more and more (careful to pause occasionally to refocus through the power rush) until Marik was too weak to keep fighting back. When he was through, the smoke was no longer red or electrified. Dean had stripped away any strength until the once-powerful Marik was no better than a brand new demon, (minus the pride and self-confidence that usually came along with that condition). He finally released the demon and stood back to admire his work. Marik didn't seem to notice his freedom. He was just waiting for the next blow and praying that it'd be the one to kill him. His voice in Dean's head had been reduced to soft, slightly pathetic whimpers.

After a minute, Dean leaned forward and whispered "now would be a good time to run along home. Anyone asks what happened to you, tell them it was Dean Winchester, and tell them to run and hide."

Marik stirred a bit, testing that he could actually move. Before running away, he shot one thought at Dean: _"you know, we may be demons, but you're the only monster here."_

* * *

Dean could feel all the power he had stolen from Marik swirling through him, burning in his veins. It was the same feeling as when he'd given in to his powers, but different somewhat. Easier to control, he supposed. Though in the presence of so much raw energy, Dean was still able to keep his head. Maybe it was because he was getting used to it, maybe something about it was different. Either way he considered it a very lucky break, as there was still work to be done: all of the previously possessed people that Dean had saved were still in the office building.

When he went through killing all of the demons, he was careful to make sure that each host remained unconscious. He'd put them all in a sort of coma so that Marik or Iris wouldn't kill them.

He switched out his blood-stained shirt for the crisp white one Marik had been wearing and assured that his eyes were normal, then teleported all of the survivors to the parking lot and woke them up for a mass explanation. They all woke in a haze, unaware of where they were or what had happened. Dean stood on a bench and yelled for their attention. Once all eyes were on him, he started.

"Okay, everybody listen up. I know that none of you really know where you are or why, you were just minding your own business and then some smoke came at you and you just blacked out and ended up here, am I right?" There were nods and noises of agreement. "Alright, this is probably going to sound kind of crazy, but you were all possessed by demons." There was a sudden chorus of murmurs, "don't freak out, they're all gone now. I got rid of them. If you're hurt, get yourself to a hospital. If not, go home. People might tell you that you started acting weird. Come up with some excuse, just don't say demons unless you want to be thrown in the loony bin. You aren't crazy, this is all real, but you have to pretend like nothing happened. You've only been gone a few days, get back to your lives and forget about all of this."

It was a pretty hard to calm the twenty-some slightly hysterical people, but eventually everyone was on their way back to their lives. One major problem out of the way. Next order of business: clean up the mess.

The demons had left three buildings full of bodies that needed to be taken care of. Wanting desperately to get out of town, Dean saw to this quickly. Fires seemed the best way to go.

Dean positioned himself in front of the first building and raised a hand with determination. He directed a blast at the building, noticing his eyes involuntarily change color. He didn't bother to fix that as he watched the building slowly go up in flames. He did the same to the other three. Finishing this took an astounding amount of energy, though he was still full up. When it was done, Dean had to spend some unknowable amount of time fighting through the euphoria and delirium it caused. He had to mentally work through from where he was, what was he doing, why, how he had gotten there, all the way back to his one anchoring thought, his reasoning behind everything: keep Sammy safe.

Once recovered, Dean surveyed the wreckage and decided that his job there was done. He woke Ted, briefly explained what had happened (sparing him the part about torturing Marik), and finally left the still-burning buildings behind him.

**A/N: Woo dramatic chapter! You know the drill. I love you all. **


	30. There's No Place Like Home

Immediately after getting back to the motel, Sam gave Bobby a call.

_"Hyello?"_

"Hey, it's me. I found him."

_"Is that a good found him or bad found him?"_

"I found the demons, he was with them. He possessed someone, but it seems like he has it under control."

_"Hijacking some poor bastard's skin and buddying up with a bunch of demons doesn't sound real controlled to me."_

"I talked to the guy, he was fine with all of it, hell if I know why. Dean said he was close and he'd come find me when he got everything."

_"So he's really rolling with the whole double agent thing?"_

"I guess so. I saw how he was with them. He's being a damn good actor for someone. I'm gonna trust him, Bobby."

Bobby was silent for a second._ "Alright. You need any help, you know where to find me."_

"Thanks." Sam hung up.

He really was relieved to have found Dean intact, but he still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Obviously, he hadn't really expected to find his brother riding some drunkard from Texas, but that wasn't what bothered him the most. What bothered him most was how natural Dean acted around the demons. Sam knew his brother; he was a natural liar, but a piss-poor actor. In their line of work, seamlessly lying was kind of a requirement, but there is a difference between lying and acting. 'I'm with the FBI' being a common lie, plus fake badges, it was convincing with no more than that one statement. Then there was acting, pretending to be something you're not. This was what nagged at Sam: Being the horrible actor that he was, Dean wouldn't be able to keep up the charade for as long as he had. Not unless some part of it was true. There was still that little voice in the corner of Sam's mind that wondered 'what if?' What if Dean was really, deep down, just like them? If not, what if he wanted to be?

Sam shoved the thoughts away. If Dean said that everything was under control, then he was hellbent on believing him, especially after what he'd said. That a random stranger could trust him but his own brother couldn't. Sam knew that it was unfair, Dean had proven himself countless times since he'd been back, but there were just some little things: Passing comments about Hell, random outbursts, threats at creatures they caught. He'd also noticed him thinking less about humans in general, like a lack of empathy or patience (more than usual) in interviewing victims and witnesses, or letting that dog attack that man while chasing Loki; he hadn't thought twice about how the man would probably die. Things like these kept that little nagging voice alive.

Sam plopped himself down on the motel room's lumpy bed and was instantly reminded that he hadn't slept in days. He double checked the hex bags and salt circle (only around the bed so that Dean could still get in the room) before finally allowing himself to relax and accept unconsciousness.

* * *

Before returning Ted's body, Dean first had to retrieve his own. He got as close to it as he could, but, seeing as he'd warded the hell out of it, he could only get within about give miles of the grave site. He hijacked a station wagon and drove the rest of the way.

**_'Just one more stop and you're pretty much home free.'_** Dean told Ted as he was driving.

_'Really? That wasn't all that bad. Short too.'_

**_'Well what were you expecting, the whole projectile vomiting and spewing random Latin?'_**

_'Kinda yeah.'_

Dean smiled a bit at that. '_**Not gonna lie, I have met some demons that do the whole nine just to mess with people.'**_

_'Lucky you ain't like that then.'_

**_'I did spare you the... grizzly details. But you're getting out alive, just like I promised.'_**

_'Well I appreciate that. Both parts.'_

He arrived at the gravesite and abandoned the car on the side of the road. The loose dirt was, thankfully, just as he'd left it. He again psychically dug up the grave then hopped inside next to his body. He pulled out a folded up napkin from his pocket, wet it with a bit of saliva, and went about removing all of the wards he'd drawn on, finishing with the already faded possession lock on Ted's arm.

He then left Ted and was briefly nothing but a cloud of smoke before turning around and re-possessing his own body. Dean took a second to take full control, happy to be himself again, then quickly got both of them out of the hole. He filled it back in and dusted himself off before taking them back to Ted's home in Texas.

They appeared just outside the front door. Dean gestured to it, "home sweet home." Ted smiled widely and went inside. Dean followed, still talking. "Alright, so just a couple things before I'm out of your hair for good. Just a second." He disappeared for no more than ten seconds then returned with a duffel bag. Ted watched curiously, but said nothing as Dean started to dig through the bag.

"Alright, basic defense, listen up." Dean said, pulling out four little black bags and setting them on the kitchen table, "these are hex bags. Put them around the house and keep them here at all times. Never lose them, never destroy them in any way."

"What're those for then?"

"There'll probably be some angry demons after me for what I did. That'll stop them from coming for you."

Ted furrowed his brow, "And why would they be comin' for me?"

"Some demons get pretty attached to their hosts. They could use you as leverage or just revenge." He then pulled out a pendant, holding it by the string with two fingers, away from himself, and set it next to the hex bags. "That's the real important one. You don't have to wear it, but keep it on you and you'll never be possessed again." Ted just nodded. Dean set down a water bottle, "Any demon comes after you, this is your weapon of choice. Splash a bit of that at them. Hope you never get close enough to have to use it."

"Water?" He looked skeptical.

"Holy water. Harmless to you, but for demons," Dean opened the bottle and dripped a bit on the back of his hand. Ted watched in surprise as it sizzled and steamed. Dean carefully closed the bottle and put it back on the table, wiping his hand on his jeans. "Burns like hell. Like I said, hope you never have to use it." Next was a burlap bag of rock salt, "salt, same principal if you toss some at a demon, but it'll keep them out too if you put it in front of the doors and windows." Finally, he took out a stick of chalk. He spoke as he drew on the underside of the doormat, "this is your last line of defense. Worst case scenario, one tries to get in, it'll get trapped here." He finished the symbol, replaced the doormat, and stood. He pulled a piece of paper and pen from his jacket, scribbled down his phone number, and handed it to Ted, "and last but not least, anything goes wrong, you give me a call. You got all that?"

He nodded, looking a bit overwhelmed, "I think so," he laughed a bit.

"What?"

"'S just a little ironic, a demon's giving me a lesson on how to fight demons."

Dean smirked a little at that, "it's my job. Some people work registers, I fight monsters. This is all 'just in case' stuff. You'll probably never need it, but I don't want you to get killed because of me. Consider yourself demon-proofed."

"Well thanks."

Dean nodded. "So my job's done here. You get back to your life, sober up, get your job back, grovel to your fiancée. Make it worth something, alright?" Ted nodded. "And thanks for, uh, letting me borrow you for a bit."

"Yeah. Hey I was just wondering, why did you wanna get back to that body?" This caught Dean's attention. "I mean, couldn't you be anybody in the world? Why stick with that guy?"

Dean looked Ted in the eye. "Simple, this is me. The real me. I wasn't always like this, you know. This was my body when I was human. Dean Winchester. I don't really want to be anyone else, don't really know how." He was quiet for a second, then grabbed the duffel bag. "You take care, Ted."

He nodded, looking over at the items Dean had given him. "You too." He said, but when he looked back, his friendly demon-hunting demon was already gone.

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated.**

**And to guest reviewer Stephenie (whenever you get to this): I can't PM you and it makes me sad but I'm so glad you're enjoying this so much! I practically had a heart attack when i woke up to 15 reviews, thank you so much for your input on every chapter, most people don't take the time to do that. It's wonderful. That is all. :)**


	31. Back In Black

Dean easily found the motel Sam had been staying at (he had to use the GPS on his phone because of the hex bags). He appeared in the room to find Sam asleep, a circle of salt around the bed. _Smart_, Dean thought, then turned to his collection of guns and other miscellaneous weapons on the table unprotected._ Less smart_, he thought. Dean mused on how easy it would be to grab one of the guns and shoot him dead, or simply toss a knife into the salt circle, or –

He stopped himself once he realized what was going through his head, slightly appalled. Thoughts like this were becoming more and more frequent. His mind often wandered and he thought about how easy it would be to just end some random person's life, pleasantly fantasizing about doing so in infinite ways. Then the rational, human, part of his mind stopped him and he was left feeling just as guilty as if he'd actually done it. These thoughts scared him, mostly because he knew that, at any moment, he was only a little mental slip away from them becoming reality. However, thinking this about random strangers was one thing, but his own brother, that was an entirely different story. It horrified him.

Dean went to the bathroom sink and splashed some water on his face, watching blood and dirt wash off and go down the drain. He stared at himself in the mirror. He still had some streaks of mud on his face, his hair was haphazardly tousled and almost grey with dirt. Otherwise, he looked pretty much how he remembered, the little he did remember. He consciously switched his eyes from their normal greenish-brown to black, a visual reality check reminding him of what he really was, just the smoke controlling this meat suit.

Well, his eyes should have been black. Dean was taken aback by the color, thinking maybe it was just a trick of the light. Leaning in a bit, it was clear that his eyes were no longer the normal demon black, but rather a dark blue. This surprised him; only the top demons had different eyes, like Azazel's yellow or Lilith's white. He was sure they weren't like that before. Blue-tinted black, similar to Marik or Iris's but perhaps a bit more colored, more noticeably different. On one level, it was a pleasant realization, a verification that he was now on the same playing field as the top dogs in Hell. On another, it scared him a little, seeing as all the rest of the 'special' demons had given in to the same thoughts that were going through Dean's own mind. He switched his eyes back and stepped away from the mirror, storing the realization away to think about some other time.

He took a quick shower to wash off all of the dirt left from being buried then got some food and waited for Sam to wake up. Dean wasn't sure how long it took, but he was relieved when he finally stirred. He hadn't wanted to wake Sam up (he obviously hadn't gotten much sleep lately), but he couldn't stand being left alone to his thoughts.

"Good morning, sunshine," Dean said as Sam sat up.

Sam jumped a bit at the unexpected voice, then turned to look at his brother, "you're back."

"Yeah, told you I would be."

"What happened to Tom or Tim or whatever?"

"Ted's back to his life, totally safe, I demon-proofed him.

Sam nodded. "So you got everything out of Marik and Iris?"

"Sort of, yeah." Dean responded, thinking about how he'd definitely gotten everything out of Marik.

Sam was looking more alert. "Sort of?"

"It didn't take long to get the plan out of them. Wasn't even really a plan, anyway." He paused, unsure, "so I got Iris to go back to Hell to get Marik alone."

"You killed him?" Sam assumed.

Dean shook his head and chuckled slightly, "no, I did worse." Sam was starting to look worried, seeing the small grin starting at the corners of his brother's mouth. "I trapped him and took away all his powers. He's not gonna be a problem anymore."

"You... took his powers? I didn't even know that was possible."

"Yeah. It - uh - involved a little torture. Maybe more than a little." He admitted with an unintentionally frightening smirk. "Can't say I didn't enjoy it though. I could have killed him, but I didn't." Sam was starting to look worried, but Dean continued, "I sent him back downstairs as a warning."

"A warning?"

"To the rest of the demons. I really made a name for myself down there, more than I've told you, but I disappeared for a couple decades. I figure, a demon as famous and strong as Marik goes crawling back home with _that _story, I can get my respect back. If they know what's good for them, they'll leave us alone."

Sam just nodded, unsure of what to think of Dean's story. "Well, I guess that's a couple problems taken care of. No more down-with-humans plan and no more demons hunting us down."

"Yeah, that's a plus." Dean said. It was good. Saving themselves was good. Saving everyone else was good. Even so, Dean felt that it may have been a bad idea to absorb all of Marik's power. He could feel himself teetering over the edge of his control. He gripped tight to his little shred of humanity, deciding that, for his own good and for Sam's (and probably many others), he could never leave his brother again. He needed Sam there to constantly remind him why he couldn't just give in: he had to keep Sammy safe. Safe from the monsters they hunted, safe from the rest of the world... Safe from what Dean hoped never to become.


	32. Fantastic Fanatic

After the whole incident with Marik and Iris was over with, Sam and Dean were back to work. Not much had changed: Sam was still wary of Dean's new behavior (though gradually trusting him more), and Dean was still completely mistrusting of himself, knowing that he was in a slow downward spiral but doing everything in his power to prevent it. He also knew that Sam had been keeping in touch with Bobby. He wasn't sure, but seeing as Sam was trying to keep it secret, he could only assume that it was about him. It slightly annoyed but didn't concern him, he was trying to be understanding of how both of them must be feeling about the whole situation. They hunted. A wraith in Buford, Wyoming, kitsune in Nowheresville, Nebraska, vamps in Omaha, windego in Des Moines, among others. They went nearly a whole month without incident.

That is, until their work brought them to Waterloo, Iowa. They were looking into what seemed to be a vengeful spirit or some other nasty creature in an old apartment complex. A man had been found dead in his apartment, most of his bones broken and a few organs ruptured. The doctor said it looked like he'd jumped off a building, had he not been found inside. He'd left no family or close friends, so after initially talking to the police, Sam and Dean went around and interviewed many of the tenants in the general vicinity of the crime scene.

Most of them answered similarly: he was a nice guy; nothing bad ever happened around there; they hadn't noticed anything strange. One more brief interview and they were ready to call it a day.

A 20-some-year-old man with a bit too much hair and glasses answered the door to the apartment directly above, saying nothing as they flashed their badges.

Sam spoke first. "Kurt Dour?" The man nodded. "We're with the FBI investigating your neighbor's death, we'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"About Mikey? Alright then." He responded, brow furrowed.

Sam continued, "Would you happen to know if anyone had a grudge against 'Mikey'?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I wouldn't think so. Didn't know him real well, but we talked sometimes. He was a nice guy."

Dean jumped in, right to the point. "Have you noticed anything weird lately?"

"Weird like...?"

"Like sudden drops in temperature, lights flickering, strange noises, smells." Kurt just cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Alright, how about Mikey acting strange, anything out of character?" The man broke into an amused smile. "What?"

He laughed a bit and wagged a finger in their direction. "You guys are good."

Dean was thoroughly confused by his amusement. He turned to Sam, "what's he talking about?" Then back to Kurt, "what're you talking about?"

He looked to be genuinely enjoying himself. "That's pretty cool. But seriously, who put you up to this? Was it Jerry? I bet it was Jerry."

Dean was starting to get annoyed, which for him translated to angry. "Look, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about, but you obviously have us confused with someone else." All the while, Sam was apologizing quietly and trying to drag him away, but he didn't budge.

Kurt was unperturbed. He gave another little laugh, "okay, you're sticking to character, I can appreciate that. I'll play along. Sorry 'Dean', what do you want to know?" He said in a slightly mocking tone.

Dean roughly grabbed Kurt's collar and pushed him against the doorframe. "Okay, what the hell are you playing at, how do you know who we are?" He said through clenched teeth. Kurt's amusement was starting to wear off and he was looking slightly scared.

"Dean," Sam pulled hard at his brother's suit to get his attention.

Dean turned his head to look at him without releasing his hold on the guy, eyes involuntarily turning dark blue. "What?"

Sam was surprised by the sudden change in color, but decided to talk to Dean about it later. "We should go."

"What?" He repeated, incredulously. "Come on, Sammy, you don't think this is weird?"

"I'll explain later. We're going."

Dean shot Kurt a threatening demon-eyed glare (he didn't really realize that his eyes were still an unearthly blue until he saw the man cower into the wall) before reluctantly releasing him and allowing himself to be ushered away.

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this chap's late and short and not too interesting, but I promise more soon. Please review, let me know you're out there. I love you all!**


	33. Time And Time Again

Before long, they were in the impala driving away from the apartment. Sam insisted on driving, seeing as Dean was still calming himself down. Neither said anything until they were back to the motel.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean asked while pacing around the room. "If that guy knew us he could be a hunter or a demon or who knows what else, why are we just leaving him there?"

Sam calmly leaned against the table, allowing space for Dean to calm down. "Nope, just a normal human."

Dean stopped in front of him, "then, what, have we met him before? Cause I don't remember him."

"Well, he's kind of a fan."

"Of?"

"Of us, our lives."

"Meaning...?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, calculating how to put this. "While you were... gone, I found out that there's this book series called "Supernatural". It's pretty much our whole lives up for public consumption."

"What? How? Who would want to read about us anyway? Our lives are crap."

"The author's a prophet."

"A prophet? Like, biblical, prophet?"

"Exactly. He sees what happens to us, and he writes books about it. The last one published ended with you going to Hell, but he's probably written a lot more by now."

Dean scoffed, "great. I wanna talk to this guy."

"After we're done here."

Dean nodded slightly. There was a pause before Sam hesitantly voiced his newest concern. "So - um - when you —"

"Attacked that guy." Dean interrupted, "my eyes turned blue?"

"Uh, yeah. You knew?"

Dean could feel his concern and an undertone of fear. He nodded, "yeah. Noticed that after I... finished off Marik. Been meaning to bring it up."

"But I thought only the top demons had different colors?"

He stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact, "I didn't just take Marik's power away, I absorbed it." Some of Sam's concern was replaced with confusion. Dean continued closing his eyes as if in a fond memory, "and it felt _great_. All that power, you have no _idea_. It's like being invincible." He opened his now midnight blue eyes and turned them on his brother. "I _am_ one of the top demons now, and every hell spawn out there knows it. But the difference between me and Azazel or Lilith or any others is that I still have a little humanity in me, and they all know how I feel about them: I have every intention of killing any that get in my way." He switched his eyes back to normal and waited for Sam's reaction.

He thought about this for a moment, "you're sure?"

"Sure about what?"

"That you're not like them."

His face hardened, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"It's nothing. Just, you've been acting, I don't know, different."

This really got to Dean. "Well what did you expect, Sam?" He shouted suddenly, "You think that I'd go to Hell for 900 years and be just fine? There's a good reason every demon we've met has been _completely nuts._" Noticing Sam's fear heighten, he paused to take a few calming breaths before resuming soberly, "that's the point of Hell, you know. Drive you crazy, carve away every last shred of humanity until you totally lose it. The things I've been through, I've done, you can't even begin to imagine. Eventually, you have no choice but to just accept it, maybe even enjoy it. The faster you accept it, the faster you turn into, well, this." He gestured to himself, eyes momentarily flashing blue. "I held out as long as I could, but I snapped, just like everyone does eventually. Went on a little rampage down there, that's why they're all after me. Or were. They're probably afraid of me now, which is good." Sam's eyebrows were pulled up and together in that sad puppy look. He looked at the ground and said nothing. Dean sighed and sat down on the bed, resigned, "I'm really not like them, Sammy. Look, I know you can't really trust me, hell, I don't trust me, but just a little would be nice. Like I told Bobby, I'm still me, still a hunter, just with a few extra tricks up my sleeve. I haven't hurt anyone and I'm not going to."

"Came close," Sam muttered.

"I know. It's hard to control sometimes, especially after getting a lot more firepower, but I'm handling it. I wasn't going to do anything to that guy unless I had a good reason to. Everything's under control." 'For now' a little voice in the back of his mind added. The true demon in him, a leftover from when he'd cracked. The same little voice that daydreamed about killing people brutally. He shoved the thought away. "I promise," he finished with a genuine little smile.

Sam nodded slowly, "alright."

There was a stretch of silence before Dean perked up suddenly, breaking both of them out of the tense and gloomy mood. He stood and clapped his hands together once, "right, so, if the chick flick moment's over now, wha'd'ya say we find out who we should be frying?"

**A/N: Another tiny little baby chappie, but hey, regular updates are good, right? Please review! Love ya. **


	34. Meet The Author

Sam easily uncovered the identity of their killer: one Diana Norton, suicide off the haunted apartment building only two years back. The remains were routinely found, dug up, salted and burned. They scanned the building for EMF one last time before heading off.

It took a full day of driving to get there. Dean had been asking countless questions on the way: what's in the books? How many are there? How many people actually read them? As well as what happened the first time Sam met the author, meeting the fan base, and any other details he could think of. By the time they pulled up to the run-down old house, Dean was more or less up to date, and pretty ticked off about the whole situation.

Sam rang the doorbell and reminded Dean to at least _try_ not to attack the guy. He received one of Dean's looks as a response. After a minute, the door opened as far as the chain lock on the other side would allow and a man peeked out, only able to see Sam through the crack.

"Oh," he said, a slight tremor in his voice, "it's you."

"Hey, Chuck. Got someone here who wants to talk to you. Wanna let us in?"

Chuck nodded slightly and shut the door to remove the lock before opening it completely and standing aside. Sam walked in and Dean followed, surveying the collection of empty bottles, crumpled papers, and miscellaneous garbage cluttering the house. "So who wants to talk to me about what?" Chuck asked, closing the door behind them.

"Name's Dean, you probably know me from my life story," Dean said, a small smile thinly covering his annoyance and slight anger at the mousy writer standing in front of him.

Chuck's eyes grew wide and he stepped back, suddenly terrified. "W-wait," he stammered out, "Dean? Nonononononono. Y-you can't be here."

Sam spoke up, confused, "you didn't see this?"

"No! Dean's still dead," he insisted, turning to the deadman in question, "you should still be in Hell. I never saw you getting out."

Dean glanced at Sam, then back to Chuck. "Well obviously, I'm here."

"What's going on, Chuck?"

He just shook his head and shuffled over to the open bottle on the table, shakily pouring a glass and lowering himself onto the couch.

"Chuck?" Sam repeated, slightly concerned.

The prophet shook his head again while downing the dark liquid in one gulp. He looked up at the brothers standing over him, "I don't know." He said, "the last couple months have been... really weird."

Dean scoffed, "yeah, us too," he mumbled.

Sam shot him a look then turned back to Chuck. "Weird like how?"

"I've been seeing a whole bunch of things. Different timelines, kind of. It's a jumble. I had to stop writing, couldn't keep it all straight. Like, sometimes you're there," he gestured to Dean, "and then you're dead for good again, and then you're back, then suddenly you've been gone for years and it's just not... flowing anymore. And then like a week ago they just stopped entirely. I don't know why."

"Well have you heard anything lately? Like, have they said anything about it?" Sam asked, concerned.

Dean was confused by the whole thing. "Who?"

Chuck paid him no attention, "no, nothing since my visions started going wacky. I've tried calling, but no answer."

"Who?" Dean asked again.

"Nothing at all?"

"Nope."

Dean was nearing the end of his patience, "can someone please tell me what's going on here?!"

"Angels." Chuck answered simply.

He raised an eyebrow, "angels? Seriously?"

"Wait," Sam cut in with mild amusement, "Dean, you can't seriously say you still don't believe in them." Dean only shrugged. "Really? You're a demon, and you don't believe in angels?"

"What does that have anything to do with it? I've still never met one."

"Hold on," Chuck interjected nervously, "d-did you just say he's a demon?"

"Yeah," Dean said, turning unnatural midnight blue eyes on him, "how else you think I was gonna get sprung from the pit? By the way, you really should demon-proof your house better, that devil's trap by the door ain't fooling anyone. Still think my life story is good reading material, hotshot?"

Chuck didn't know how to respond. "...it pays the bills." He finally mumbled.

"Yeah, well not anymore. You don't have the right."

"The angels seem to think I do —"

Dean's anger was starting to come to the surface and Chuck was beginning to cower away. "Ugh, again with the angels!" Sam's hand on his shoulder reminded him to stay calm. He switched his eyes back to normal and shook off Sam's hand, continuing with marginally more control, "look, you can do whatever you want with the whole prophet thing. I don't know about Sam here, but I don't want my life 'in a bookstore near you'. If you write any more books, I will personally hunt you down, and you don't want that. Capiche?" Chuck nodded weakly. "Great. We're off then." Dean started for the door.

"You know, you really should believe in angels, Dean," the prophet called after him, "who knows, one might save you someday."

This stopped him in his tracks, hand frozen on the door handle. He scoffed. "I got nothing left to save, Chuck," he said before quickly leaving the house.

Sam turned to Chuck as soon as his brother left. "I'm really sorry about all that."

"No, he's right. No more books."

"Good." He moved to leave. "You take care, Chuck. Keep in touch."

Chuck just nodded as Sam left to join Dean, patiently waiting in the impala.

**A/N: I can has reviews? I love you all. **


	35. Bad To The Bone

Sam and Dean had nothing in particular to be running to or from, so they just stayed where they were for a bit, enjoying the small vacation. It consisted mostly of civil conversation and card games. Sam was particularly enjoying being able to sleep in an actual bed for multiple nights in a row.

But however calm and relaxed the pair appeared, there was far too much tension between them. Sam's worries about Dean were refreshed and intensified after learning about the eye change. He knew that this could be a good thing on a few levels: they didn't need to worry about demons at all anymore; few would want to cross Dean and those who did wouldn't stand a chance. Also, Dean now had near limitless power up his sleeves. Sam would be lying if he said that hunting wasn't much easier since he showed up with all his demon tricks. At the same time, he knew what negatives the color change may entail: he wasn't so sure that Dean had everything under control. Ever since Dean had taken Marik's power, Sam noticed that he was quite a bit more short tempered and violent than he'd been before. Also worrisome was the blissful and far-off way he spoke about torture and the excitement towards his newfound power; Sam was slightly afraid of how much Dean seemed to enjoy torturing someone to a breaking point, even if it was a demon. All in all, he was not afraid that Dean would hurt him in any way, but he was afraid that his brother was slipping closer to demonism and further from his remainder of humanity. It was back to walking on eggshells to avoid raising his temper and sleeping restlessly, scared that something bad might happen while he was unconscious.

Dean, of course had his worries as well. That small voice in his head had been gradually growing stronger. He was constantly trying to suppress his thoughts; mental images of blood and fire, memories from his time in the torture division in hell. Thoughts progressed even further to constant feelings of rage and hatred, urges to rip the world to shreds, watch it burn. He tried desperately to get away from such thoughts, but the rapidly growing demonic part of him got some sort of sadistic pleasure from them, so they kept getting pushed back to the surface. His rational mind, his humanity, was revolted by his subconscious and terrified that he may lose control again and not be able to gain it back. Dean resolved to use his powers as little as possible. Each little bit just kicked the beehive, made it harder to hold on and tempted him closer to the edge of insanity.

Sam, as always, was his anchor. He was especially conversational while they had nothing to do, never wanting his mind to be idle. Sam was his reminder to keep fighting, not to let go of his humanity. The last thing Dean wanted was to let his brother see how bad it really was, how delicate his control had become. He didn't want Sam to see him as something unstable or inhuman.

Of course, Sam, being human, couldn't be there constantly. It was worst when he was asleep and Dean was left alone. It was all he could do to hold on until morning. The first night he was alone during their break, he'd decided to visit the local bar. Talk to people, maybe experiment with how much alcohol it took to actually take the edge off. In the end, he was kicked out for tossing a dart at someone's head (he had aimed it high enough to miss just to scare the guy a bit, however, the management didn't seem to appreciate the 'threat' or the dart now permanently embedded in the wall). He'd walked away with $50 from hustling pool, completely sober and feeling no better than before. After that incident, Dean decided not to trust himself around people without Sam as a sort of conscience.

Three days into the hiatus, Sam decided to get some air, get food, hear the local news, socialize a bit. He gave up trying to convince Dean to go with after about five minutes. Just as well, he thought. The unspoken worries from both created an uncomfortable tension, they needed a little time alone. He took the impala into town, ending up in a quaint little diner. He grabbed a newspaper on the way in and sat down for coffee and a light lunch. He was just browsing through the obituaries, hadn't even been served yet, when someone slid into the booth across from him.

"Hey there," he said, leaning his arms on the table.

Sam folded his paper and looked up at the man, slightly confused. He noted that the man was wearing a heavy vest, similar to many hunters' as it was easy to conceal weapons in. He looked perhaps mid-thirties and had extremely short hair and hardened features. The evidence was strongly leaning towards hunter. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"No, but I like to think I know you a little. You see, my buddies and I have been following you and your partner around for a while," Sam became aware of one other man watching from table not too far away but knew better than to act out. He continued, "and we aren't too happy with you two."

"And why's that?"

The man leaned in further and lowered his voice. "Cut the crap, you reek of sulfur. We know that the guy you're with is a demon, but you're not. So what we'd like to know is why you're working with him. Before you try anything, let me point out that I have a gun and backup. Now I want you to put your cell phone on the table."

Sam sighed and, seeing no other option, did as he was told. "You're wasting your time," he said, "he's not going to fall for the whole live bait thing."

"We'll just see about that, now won't we?" He responded, turning off Sam's cell before stowing it away. "Now you're going to calmly walk out of here and go around back. You try to run, you get shot. You try to fight, you get shot. Am I clear?"

Sam only nodded, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. These guys had tracked Dean down for everything Marik and Iris did. They wanted to use Sam as bait to lure Dean into a trap. Sam weighed his options and took the only one that didn't end with a bullet. He was comforted by the fact that Dean was definitely not dumb enough to let himself be caught, as well as the fact that these hunters would likely not kill a human just to catch a demon. He abandoned his newspaper and left the diner, casually walking around the corner and out of view of the diner's windows, aware that he was being followed by the two men from inside. When he rounded the corner to the back of the building, the inevitable third attacked him. He was hit over the head with something hard and everything went black.

**A/N: Sorry about the wait. I have no excuse. Anyway, please review. Love you. **


	36. You Wouldn't Like Him When He's Angry

When Sam had been gone for over two hours without checking in, Dean knew that something was wrong. A quick mental scan of the area showed that he was nowhere to be found. Starting to panic slightly, Dean pulled out the laptop, only to find that Sam's phone was off. No GPS. He stormed out of the motel room and headed into town. He was lucky enough to get a lead from the first place he thought to go: a little stand alone diner in the middle of the small town. Seeing his urgency, a waitress told him that she saw Sam come in for no more than two minutes then leave after another guy showed up and started talking to him. From her description, Dean was sure that Sam had been taken by hunters. Upon leaving the diner, Dean was thoroughly panicked and pissed off, but he reminded himself to stay calm and focused. He couldn't do Sam any good if he lost his control now.

He was calculating his next move when Sam suddenly appeared on his radar. Knowing hunters, he assumed that they had a few hex bags to give themselves time to tie up Sam and set a trap. Seeing as they'd just burned them, Dean took his cue to show up. He tracked Sam to a warehouse just outside town and wasted no time in teleporting there.

Now standing in front of the concrete structure, Dean's mind whirred with how he would punish these hunters if they had harmed his brother in any way. Before storming in, Dean called in a few storm clouds. They were expecting a strong and angry demon, so he figured why not play the part? The sky grew dark and crackled with lightning. A small power rush came over him, but he quickly suppressed it. There were bigger matters at hand. He gave the change in weather a minute to sink in before supernaturally ripping the door off its hinges and throwing it aside.

Standing in the doorway, he surveyed the room. Sam was tied up to a chair at the far end of the initial clear area, unconscious. The rest of the space was filled with piles of boxes, bundles of pipe, and miscellaneous other industrially packaged items. In his scan of the area he found a devil's trap painted on the floor immediately in front of the entrance. He took care of this quickly, forming a crack in the concrete across the edge with little more than a thought. Dean stepped inside, yelling into the air.

"Alright! Here I am!" No response. Dean slowly advanced further into the building. "I know you're there. Come on out." He said in a lower, slightly more threatening voice. By this point, he'd crossed most of the small open area. Just before reaching Sam, however, he ran into an invisible wall. Surprised, he double checked the floor and ceiling. He thought for a second before realizing to look to the sides. Sure enough, he found another trap painted on the wall to his left. He shook his head at his oversight as the three hunters appeared from their posts around the warehouse. "You crafty sons of bitches. Alright, you got me. Congratulations. What do you want?"

One of them stepped directly between Dean and Sam. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Me, I want you to untie Sam here," he nodded towards his brother, "then, depending on his condition, I'll decide what I want to do from there."

"Right. Yeah, small problem, that's not going to happen. So why don't you just tell us your plan and we can send you back downstairs nice and easy?"

Dean scoffed. "You're wasting your time. I don't have a plan. It may be hard to believe, but we're on the same team here."

Another hunter to the right of him spoke up, "you expect us to believe that you have nothing to do with this whole wipe out humanity thing?"

He chuckled a bit, "you guys are pretty late to the party. That ship sailed a while ago."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah really. Nipped that in the bud personally before it went anywhere. I told you, we're on the same side."

"You? A demon? Now why don't I believe that?"

"Alright, how 'bout this: who told you that the demons had a plan in the first place?"

The first man spoke again after a slight hesitation, "friend of mine."

"This friend of yours happen to be Bobby Singer?" He took the hunter's furrowed brow as a yes. "And who do you think told him?" He jabbed a thumb at himself.

"There's gotta be something in it for you. What about the hunting, how does that fit in? And why are you working with that guy?" The third asked from behind him.

Dean turned to address him, "I'm a hunter. That's it." A splash of holy water came from behind him. It stung where it hit the back of his neck directly, but didn't burn nearly as much as when Sam hit him with some months back. Even so, it irritated him. He angrily turned to the first hunter. If it weren't for Sam still tied up behind him, Dean likely would have lost it then and there. Rather, he said nothing and just stared at the hunter through dark blue eyes. "We want the truth," the hunter with the holy water insisted, unfazed by Dean's glare.

"I'm telling you the truth," he said in a low near-growl.

"Yeah, you're a very virtuous hell spawn, got that," the hunter to his right said sarcastically, "but _why_ are you hunting monsters? Last I checked, all demons want to do is raise some hell."

Dean forced his eyes back to normal and turned to him. "Hell can stay where it is as far as I'm concerned. I just want to get back to work."

"Back to work as a hunter."

"Bingo. All I'm doing is fighting monsters with my little brother, like we have since we were kids. Can you just get that through your thick skulls? It doesn't matter that I'm a demon now. I'm fighting the same battle as you."

The first hunter nearly laughed out loud. "You sad, delusional, crazy son of a bitch. Your brother?" He crouched down next to Sam, pulling his limp head up by a fistful of his ridiculously long hair. "This isn't your brother. This is a human that you brainwashed into working with you for some reason. This," he switched his hold from Sam's hair to under his chin, "is the hunter who should have killed you a long time ago. But now, he's helping you do god knows what. We might even have to take him out too when we're done with you."

Dean was infuriated. He got as close as the devil's trap would allow and growled out, "you don't know a damn thing. If you so much as touch him again, so help me, it will be the last thing you ever do." A strong gust of wind blew through the warehouse to emphasize his point.

"Ooo, that struck a chord," the third hunter commented. "I don't think we're gonna get anything out of this one, Hank."

The hunter crouched next to Sam, apparently his name was Hank, sighed and nodded. "You're probably right." He gave Sam a hard pat on the back before standing directly in front of Dean, who was currently wishing he could reach out and strangle him. "Have fun in hell. We catch you up here again, we'll kill you. Understood?" Dean spit in his face as a response. Hank wiped his eye with the back of his hand. "Go for it, Vic," he said before turning back to Sam.

The hunter to the right of Dean started reciting an exorcism. The demon was unfazed, standing perfectly still and staring daggers at Hank. The hunter was raising a hand to slap Sam awake when the exorcism stopped short. Hank turned to his companion, "what are you waiting for? Finish it."

Vic looked uneasy, "um, it's not working."

"What? What do you mean it's not working?" Hank turned and was met with a smug grin from Dean.

Dean shook his head, "you're really gonna have to try harder than that. My turn." He dropped his head and closed his eyes, muttering his own Latin incantation. There was a loud boom of thunder and a blinding crack of lightning. Satisfied that he'd been able to break the trap, Dean looked up at Hank with a demented smile and a malicious demon-eyed glare. "That's better."

All three hunters were thrown in different directions. The other two were pinned against walls while Hank, obviously the leader of the operation, got Dean's special attention. He was thrown into the tall stack of boxes behind him then pulled up off the ground in a supernatural choke hold as Dean dramatically advanced.

"You know, we could have all gotten out of here alive. I've been trying to be good, I really have. And I've been doing pretty well, if I do say so myself. Haven't even killed anyone yet. But then you," Hank was slammed against another pile of crates, "you just had to go and make me mad, didn't you?" Dean reveled in the power rush now, making no attempt to stop it. He made the storm rage outside and let himself enjoy the terror in the hunter's eyes. "Big mistake."

**A/N: Ahh! Drama! Please review, I love you all so much.**


	37. Decisions, Decisions

It was like coming out of a dream. Dean remembered everything that had happened in vivid detail, but it seemed somewhat unreal. It didn't seem like his power that had twisted the third hunter's (he'd never heard this one's name) neck to such an unnatural angle, though he remembered the cracks and crunches as bone and tendons were stretched to a breaking point. He hardly recalled slamming the second hunter, Vic, into the wall hard enough to break his skull open like an egg, but there was the red stain dripping down the concrete and onto his limp figure. And it couldn't have been Dean that had run a pipe through Hank's middle then looked him in the eye with a malicious grin as he reached into the wound to grab hold of his frantically racing heart and slowly crush it. Yet here he sat, spattered with the man's blood, hands still dripping with the stuff as he surveyed the damage. He was pleased with his work, glad to be rid of this group of hunters, but some nagging voice told him that this was bad, this was very wrong. The human and demon portions of himself seemed to have switched places, the truly demonic part now dominant while his shred of humanity was reduced to an insignificant little voice in the back of his mind.

Dean was gradually coming down from the strong power high, forcing himself to think. He had come here for a reason, what was it...

His eyes crossed over Sam, who was still tied to the chair, unconscious. _Right_, he thought, _Sam_. The phrase_ 'keep Sammy safe' _involuntarily ran through his head, prompted by that little voice of reason. This pulled Dean out of his reverie as he remembered exactly why he'd killed these men. He effortlessly cut the ropes off Sam, slung him over his shoulder, and teleported the two of them back to the motel, leaving the bodies for someone else to find. Dean carefully lowered his brother onto one of the beds, still unsure of his injuries, before going to clean off all evidence of the small massacre.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he found that there was a good amount of blood splattered across his face and shirt, a large smear painting the front of the grey tee where he'd carelessly wiped his fingers. His hands and forearms were stained red with sticky, drying blood. Behind the gore, his midnight blue eyes were practically shimmering, the full rush of power evident in this one feature that was truly him. He slightly grinned at the whole sight, but the human bit in his mind protested enough that he finally showered and changed into new, non-bloodstained clothes.

Now entirely coming out of the dream-like state the massacre had put him in, Dean started to feel the repercussions of his actions. On a primal and sadistic level, he still enjoyed the memory of killing the hunters, but rationally, he felt something akin to guilt and regret (as close to guilt or regret as a demon can feel). Those hunters must have friends, each of whom will be looking high and low for their killer. Maybe even family; Dean could directly relate to how irrationally people can act when protecting or avenging a family member. It wasn't really that Dean regretted causing these people grief or sadness, though some part of him thought maybe he should. He regretted possibly putting Sam on their radar for 'helping' him. His guilt was for the fact that he hadn't even considered them while mercilessly killing those men. This truly was the seal of losing his humanity. As a human, all those years ago, Dean was sure that he could have never done anything like that. He wondered what he'd say when Sam woke up. He'd let himself down, been weak enough to give in to his demonic urges. He'd let his brother down, let go, lost control even though he'd promised never to do so. And just when he felt that he was starting to gain some trust back, too.

Dean sat on the coffee table, set his feet on a chair, and rest his head on clasped hands, allowing himself to think and breathe before Sam woke up.

* * *

The last thing Sam remembered was being in a warehouse. The hunters had tried to interrogate him, asking questions about Dean, but he didn't tell them anything aside from how bad their plan was. Dean would show up and he would be pissed. He'd warned them that he wouldn't let them catch him, that it was probably a bad idea to make Dean mad. In the end, he was knocked out again as they burned their hex bags.

Now, Sam woke up on a bed in the motel room. He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and ringing in his ears. As his eyes focused, he became aware of Dean sitting on the table, head down.

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Dean didn't react. Sensing that something was wrong, Sam sat up completely and moved to the edge of the bed. "Dean?" Silence. "Dean, what happened?" He asked with genuine concern.

Dean shook his head slightly. "I shouldn't have let you leave," he said quietly, "Our luck, I should have known something bad would happen." Sam noticed a strange undertone in his voice, dangerous. Dean lifted his head slightly to look at him. "I'm not okay, Sammy. I've been acting like everything's fine, like nothing's changed, but that's not true."

"What're you talking about?"

"I killed them. Those hunters that took you, I killed all of them." A small yet frightening grin stretched across Dean's face, "And I enjoyed it. A lot. I probably should feel bad, but I don't. They were going to kill you. I'd do it again in a second, because I know what I am now."

"Dean, stop. We can fix this."

"No!" He yelled suddenly, the small grin growing large and manic. "Don't you get it? There's nothing to fix. This isn't just some slip-up. This is what I am. I'm a demon, Sam. All this time I've been pretending like I'm not, but really it's all been leading up to this. I'm not a human, I'm not a hunter. I'm just another demon." Sam started to protest, but Dean held up a finger to silence him before continuing, "I'm not as innocent as you think. Everyone I come across, I just can't help it, I kill them in my head. Hundreds of different ways. I tried not to think like that at first, but you know, I'm almost starting to like it. Good entertainment. The thing is, I just don't care anymore. I don't care about anyone. You're no exception." He hopped down from the table and straddled the chair looking directly at Sam. "I mean, it's not like I want you dead, but the amount of times I've imagined it..." He trailed off, looking somewhat guilty. "But then there's still that little... Human... part of me that says you're still my brother and I should watch what I think, what I say, what I do. Because I don't want to hurt you. I really don't. So you have to kill me." He finished unemotionally, simply stating a fact.

Sam was shocked by Dean's whole confession, scared knowing about the thoughts he'd been having, and somewhat appalled by his 'solution'. "No," he said finally, "no there has to be some other way."

"There is no other way and you know it. I lost my temper and I lost control. You know that it's going to happen again and I might not come out of it, so I'm telling you now while I'm still thinking straight: I want you to kill me. Don't send me back downstairs, it'll only get worse. And don't lock me in that damned panic room, that won't to any good." His voice became quiet, eyes pleading, "please, for whatever's left of your brother. I don't want to be a monster. Bottom line: if you don't, I'll end up going out and wreaking havoc until some other hunter comes along and finishes it. I don't want to bring it to a threat but," his eyes flashed blue quickly, "there's not many things worse than a suicidal demon. So what do you say?"


	38. Oh, How The Tables Have Turned

Sam was gaping, completely taken aback by Dean's implication. He practically laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you, Dean."

"Why not? I should be dead right now anyway."

"That doesn't make any difference. You're still here and it's my job to protect you. I'm going to fix this."

"Oh yeah? And how do you think you're gonna manage that?"

"I don't know. But I will find a way. Whatever it takes."

"And what if something like this happens again? I don't think you get just how hard it is to keep controlled right now."

"Nothing's going to happen." Sam said confidently.

"How can you know that?"

"Because we're going to Bobby's right now."

"Bobby's? You're gonna lock me up, aren't you?"

"Are you gonna make a big deal about it? Because if you're not playing nice, I don't have to either."

Dean thought for a moment. If he agreed, he'd be locked in a specially designed demon prison for who-knows-how-long. On the other hand, he didn't really want to die, he just saw it as the only alternative. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself at the moment either, he thought perhaps a prison would be the best option. If he couldn't get out, he wouldn't be able to do any harm. He finally nodded, "alright. It's a plan, I guess. It's crazy and it's probably not going to work, but it's a plan."

After Sam called to give Bobby a heads up, they were quickly on the road to Sioux Falls. It was only a few hours' drive and they arrived sometime around midnight. Sam parked the car in front of the old house and turned to his brother, who had been silent the whole ride and was currently tightly gripping the door and staring out the window.

"You sure you want to do this?"

Dean didn't move when he responded, his voice grave. "Don't really have a choice, do I? You really think you can find something?"

"I'm gonna do my best. There has to be something out there." He knew that the possibility of some miracle fix was astronomically slim, but now wasn't really the time for the truth. He just needed to persuade Dean into the panic room with as little commotion as possible. The last thing they needed was for him to lose it again and disappear.

Dean nodded slightly, sensing Sam's doubt. "Just promise me one thing," he finally turned to face his brother, "don't sell your soul. No matter how good the deal might seem. I don't want you to end up like this."

"Alright." Sam said softly.

"I'm serious."

"I won't. I promise." It was, of course, a hollow promise. Even as he said it, Sam knew that if some crossroads demon was willing and able to help Dean, he would seriously consider a deal, whatever the cost.

"And you can't lock me up forever. If you can't find anything in a month or so, I want you to come back and finish it. Can you do that?"

That wasn't going to happen either. There was no way in hell Sam would be able to kill his own brother, demon or not. He nodded anyway. Again, this wasn't a time for truth.

"Well," Dean said, finally opening the door, "ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

Sam rang the doorbell and Bobby answered seconds later. He warily eyed Dean before letting them inside and leading them downstairs.

No one really had anything to say. Bobby had known this would happen eventually, but avoided I-told-you-so's while Dean was within earshot. Sam felt bad for locking Dean away, but knew that it was the only way to both be safe and keep his brother alive. He was silent as he stooped to scratch the paint of the first devil's trap off the floor so that Dean could walk through.

Dean felt like a fugitive. Yes, he was willingly walking into a prison cell, but that wasn't the reason. It was the way Sam and Bobby were acting towards him; like he was a stranger. A dangerous stranger. Which, to some degree, was true. He was dangerous, but even with minimal control, that stubborn little human portion would never let him hurt _them_: the little brother that he'd raised and the most stable father figure in his life. He could feel their fear, mistrust, and slight guilt and sadness from Sam's side. Dean had nothing more to say. He'd made his parting comments before getting out of the car, fully expecting to not make it out of this whole thing alive or sane. He gave the large circular pattern on the floor a pensive glare before resolutely stepping into it. He soberly looked over the two as they shut and bolted the salted-iron door, leaving the window-like hatch open. As if that would make it feel any less like a prison.

Sam gave a weak smile through the small opening and Dean silently responded with a final nod. He watched Sam and Bobby walk upstairs before settling onto the cot in the middle of the room. He knew that he shouldn't feel so resentful, this was for his own good. He just worried about how long he'd stay sane locked up like this.

It reminded him of Hell somewhat. If he imagined blood streaked and splattered across the walls, miscellaneous instruments of torture, and dim red light, then he could all but hear the familiar chorus of screams, smell the bitter tang of freshly spilled blood. Now that he thought about it, he saw no point in trying to think or act like a human now that there was no penalty for his thoughts. Dean could feel all of his power stripped away by the sigil, so he figured that losing control now would make no difference. Besides, he needed some source of entertainment while locked up. He closed his eyes and let himself slip into the dark daydream. Maybe sanity wasn't so precious after all...


	39. At The End Of The Road

Dean wished he could sleep. It had been days (he couldn't be sure of exactly how many) and he was bored to death. Bobby came down to check in every once in a while but never stayed long enough for conversation. He tried to keep himself busy, but there really was nothing to do, seeing as Bobby had completely cleared out any items in the room aside from the cot. He refused to grant Dean anything, be it a ball to bounce off the wall, a book, or even any food ("I ain't a maid, boy. I know you don't need to eat, you just feel like bein' a pain in my ass"). So he was just laying on the cot, watching the small fan on the ceiling grate, and thinking back to his hundred-year rampage in the pit.

"Dean, Dean, Dean..." A mocking and disapproving voice came from just outside the room. Dean stood to peek through the small opening in the door. A woman in tight jeans and a black jacket was casually pacing in front of the door, avoiding the repaired devil's trap. "Look at you. Locked up like a dog. See, this is why you shouldn't trust hunters."

"Iris," Dean concluded, wondering why he hadn't sensed her, "wish I could say it's good to see you but," he got as close to the window as he could, "it's really not. So let me guess, Marik scurried home tail between his legs and you're pissed."

"Something like that." She said with a small smile. "But what I don't get is how you go so far to convince everyone of how powerful you are then you just go and disappear again. You know, I was actually kind of impressed when I saw what you did to Marik. I really underestimated you."

Dean shrugged, "what can I say? I've got a gift."

"Then why are you caged up? That old hunter upstairs doesn't look all that clever. Something as strong as you shouldn't be held down by some blundering humans."

"None of your business. Cut to the chase, I'm assuming you're not just here to chat."

"Bravo, right again. You see, I was going to kill you, but the boss won't allow it. So I'm just going to have to go for your weak point."

"I don't have a weak point, sweetheart." Dean said, though he feared he knew what was coming next.

"Oh please," Iris scoffed, stopping to face the door, "what about your baby brother? You know, the one you told us you killed."

This caught Dean's attention. His eyes narrowed in anger and he slammed a hand against the invisible wall keeping them separated. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. Yet. I just thought I should tell you first so you know that anything that happens to him is your fault. You hurt someone I care about, now it's my turn." She chuckled softly, strange coming from the unassuming form she was in, "And you've made it so easy for me, getting yourself locked up like this. An eye for an eye, Dean." She spit out his name like venom. "Your little human pet is going to be begging me to kill him."

By now, Dean was seething with anger, though not showing it for fear of looking weak. "Why can't you just kill me? That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Oh believe me, I would love to. But like I said: boss's orders. No one touches the little prince. Unlike you, I'm no rebel."

"Someone's ordering you around? Who?"

Iris gave a lopsided grin, eyes flicking over to a dark purple, "ah ah ah, life's no fun without a little mystery. I'll see you in hell, Dean."

"You should hope you never see me again." Dean managed to fit in before she disappeared.

* * *

Sam was frustrated beyond belief. He felt like a clock was ticking, counting down his allotted month. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't find anything. He definitely couldn't leave Dean locked up, but he also couldn't let him out because he was just too unstable. Sam was terrified of losing his brother again, he'd hardly been able to get through the last time. There was no way that he could kill him either. It had been little more than a week, but he was at the end of his resources. Every hour spent scouring the Internet had come up fruitless. He got nothing from textual resources, from relatively new books to tediously translated ancient texts. He'd even tried contacting some hunters who, after lengthily questioning his reasons for the research, weren't able to tell him anything useful.

He was unable to sleep, overwhelmed with aggravation and helplessness as he reached the end of yet another frivolous textbook. He attempted to relax a bit, but his mind refused to rest. Knowing full well that he would likely regret this later, he put together a tin and drove out to the middle of nowhere until he found an ideal intersection of two gravel roads. He'd promised Dean that he wouldn't do this, but he was getting nowhere in his efforts. He buried the box and waited.

"Hello there," a high-pitched, though not unpleasant female voice came from behind him, "how can I be of assistance?"

**A/N: Hey, all. Sorry it's shorter, but I felt bad for being so late. I promise to be better about updates. Review please? I love you. **


	40. We All Fall Down

_"How can I be of assistance?"_

Sam turned to face the demon, taking a deep breath before continuing. He didn't know if it was even possible for a demon to help him, but, seeing as he was fresh out of options, he figured there was no harm in trying.

He picked his words carefully. He didn't even need to make a deal if he could somehow just get information. "Would you happen to know of anything that can cure a demon?"

"Hm, depends on what you mean by 'cure'." She responded, starting to slowly advance on him.

"I know that demons were human once, is there any way to get that back?"

"Well that's certainly one I've never heard before. Usually people just ask for money or power, it actually gets boring after a while. What makes you ask something like that?"

"Doesn't matter. Can you do it or not?" Sam asked, impatient.

"That's a tricky one. Personally, I definitely can't; not even sure if it's possible. But I do know of someone. If anyone can do it, it'd be him."

"A demon?" She nodded once. "Who?"

She suddenly became serious, "hold on. He might be _able_ to help, but he probably won't. And, take my word, you really don't want to meet him."

"What if I do?"

She shrugged. "Then you're just going to have to find him yourself. I'm sorry, but no deal is worth going to talk to _him_. He's the most dangerous thing I've ever come across."

Sam was starting to doubt if he really wanted this. Still, even a 'maybe' was a lot more promising than anything else he'd found. "Say I do want to talk to him, what would I do?"

"Gotta ask all the hard questions, don't you? He can't be summoned like most, doesn't really play by the same rules as the rest of us. But, if you're hellbent on getting yourself killed, then rumor has it that he'll come running if you mess with that human he's been hanging around with."

Sam released his tense breath, breaking eye contact with the crossroads demon. He shook his head, nearly laughing. "You've got to be kidding me." He mumbled.

"What's so funny?"

"This demon wouldn't happen to be Dean Winchester, would it?"

She tilted her head, brow furrowed. "You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him. I'm 'that human he's been hanging around with'." It was probably just the stress and lack of sleep finally getting to his head, but he just couldn't seem to stop laughing. "Well, if you don't have anything helpful, I think we're done here."

The demon's eyes were wide, half scared half surprised. She finally found her voice as Sam was walking away. "So you don't want to make any deal? Any at all? Information isn't cheap, you know."

"Why would I pay for something I already knew?" He said without turning back to her, "besides, do you really think that Dean would let me make a deal with the likes of you?"

* * *

"Bobby!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, "hey, Bobby!" He kept making noise until the old hunter finally came downstairs.

"Wha'd'ya want?" He asked irritably, going to stand in front of the heavy door.

Dean spoke hurriedly, grasping at his control desperately so as to get as much trust from Bobby as possible. "Okay, I know that this isn't going to sound good, but you need to let me out."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Sam's in danger and it's my fault and I'm the only one that can help him."

Bobby glared at him for a moment. "Look, I don't know if I can believe a word comin' outta your mouth, but when it comes to Sam, I really hope you're tellin the truth. You say he's in trouble, he'd damn well be in trouble. I hope you wouldn't stoop that low just to get out."

"Bobby, listen to me. I'm telling the truth. It's Iris, she's back and she's after Sam." he just barely managed to keep his voice calm, though inside he was a whirlwind of panic and hatred and rage.

"How do you know?"

"She came here and told me herself. Think about it, doesn't it smell like sulfur out there?"

"'Course it does, whole damn house does."

"But even more right there. You can tell. It's because she was just here telling me about how she would torture him. Come on, please." By now he was practically begging, teeth and fists clenched in the effort of appearing controlled, eyes occasionally flickering between human green and demon blue faster than Bobby could detect. He could tell that Bobby wanted to believe him, wanted to think that there was still some of Dean left in there somewhere.

He looked away and finally said, "Sam's a grown man and he don' need you to take care of him anymore. If anythin's really wrong, he'll call me and I'll go help. But you can be sure about one thing: there's no way in hell I'm lettin' you outta there." With that, he walked away, muttering a small 'sorry' that likely wouldn't have been audible to human ears. Dean yelled after him as he walked up the stairs, but got no further response.

As soon as Bobby was gone, something just snapped in Dean's mind. His control slipped away completely and his true self, the vicious demon, finally broke through. He pounded at the invisible wall created by the trap and let loose screams of pent up frustration and rage. He didn't know how long the fit lasted, but it felt good to loose a little anger. He was throwing away all of his efforts to be controlled up to this point, but he didn't care. It was different from when he'd lost control of his power and killed those hunters because this time he had none of his power. This was worse. This was the thin veil of his sanity finally melting away.

When the initial flood subsided, Dean shakily lowered himself to the floor where the cot had been (he'd hurled it at the wall at some point in his anger) and contemplated alternate methods of escape. The nice way hadn't worked, so he would have to go with more abrasive methods. Even now, running on pure emotion and instinct, he was driven by one basic thought: '_keep Sammy safe'. _Heknew he had to save Sam, he had to kill Iris, and to do that, he _had_ to get out of this damned cell.

An idea dawned on him and he grinned to himself as he dug into his own stomach, making as much of a bloody mess as he could. He supposed that his sense of feeling was dulled because what should have been blinding pain was merely a tickle. Satisfied with his work, he focused all of his energy and left the mangled body with a strangled scream. It was difficult with the sigil's limitations and took a couple tries, but he was finally free. He ascended as far as the small room would allow and waited patiently for his opportunity.

**A/N: Oh my, where has this story gone? Drama drama. Review anyway? As always, I love you all.**


	41. An End And A Beginning

After learning about what he had done to deserve being locked away, Bobby concluded that, however similar he seemed, Dean was as good as gone. He wanted desperately to believe that the human part of him was still in there somewhere, that he could be saved. And he had believed it to some degree. At least, until his outburst after their conversation. Screams and pounding on the walls and floor could be heard throughout the whole house. His yells and cursing switched from English to Latin at some point early on. It felt like it lasted hours, days even, and every second made Bobby more and more doubtful that there was anything out there that could save Dean. Or if he even wanted to be saved. Maybe there wasn't enough humanity left to salvage.

Even so, Bobby worried that he had been telling the truth, that Sam really was in danger. He wanted to give him a heads up, make sure he was okay, but he thought it best not to call until Dean calmed down. No need in making Sam any more worried than he already was. He'd panic, rush, slip up. Who knew what kind of trouble that might get him into. However, it quickly became obvious that it wasn't going to stop any time soon, so he gave up and went outside to give Sam a call anyway.

He answered after the first ring, _"Hey Bobby, what's up?"_

"Just callin to check in. You find anythin yet?"

_"Nothing, you?"_

"Nada."

_"How's he doing?"_

Bobby hesitated, he just barely hear muffled screams from inside, "not too good."

_"He trying to get out?"_

"Sounds like it, yeah. Look, I know you don't wanna think it, but you know there's probably no chance we can help him."

There was a stretch of silence before Sam responded, sounding tired and put out, _"I know. Doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking."_

Bobby wanted to tell him how bad things had gotten; that Dean was seeing things, the state he was in now that he probably wouldn't come out of, that he was starting to think of Dean more as a demon than an afflicted hunter. But he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to break Sam's hope that he could save his brother, or what was once his brother. He couldn't quite put it into words over the phone, even with the noises coming from the safe room in the basement in the house becoming so loud that they were clearly audible from outside. So he just wished him luck, told him to be careful, and ended the call.

Bobby went back inside and poured a glass of whiskey, preparing to wait out the storm. He contributed to Sam's search by skimming through his collection of books on demons and other monsters, all the while watching the clock. Five minutes turned into ten. Thirty. It was going on an hour when the pained and angry noises suddenly gave way to a dead silence. About three minutes later, there was a small, painful scream then nothing.

Bobby waited and listened for a minute, still nothing. The absolute silence was unnerving, especially after such relentless noise. He sighed, grabbed the knife Sam had left with him ("just in case, but not for Dean, whatever happens" he'd said, but if need be, Bobby was going to use it to protect himself), and descended into the basement.

"Dean?" He said while approaching the locked room. No response. He got near enough to just see the wall on the other side of the window where the cot was leaned up on its side. There were scratches on it and, was that blood? "Dean?" He called out again, more warily, and tightened his grip on the knife. "Answer me, boy." As he got closer, more of the scene was visible. There were various symbols scrawled in blood on the floor, none of which Bobby recognized. Dean's body lay motionless in the center of the room, brutally torn open and coated in blood, eyes glazed over, staring unblinking and unfocused into the distance.

He was shocked by the whole scene, wondered what could have done this. Dean had said that he saw Iris. It _was_ possible for another demon to enter the room and he _had_ left the house briefly. He kicked himself for not coming down to check earlier, only now realizing that the horrible sounds he'd heard may have been Dean being tortured. He may have waited just long enough to let his attackers go free.

Bobby allowed himself a second to soak in the gruesome sight before reluctantly deciding to open the door. He concluded that Dean was dead, remembering what Sam had told him about the possession lock and also the fact that he'd seen a demon try to ditch a body while trapped, it was impossible. He needed a better look at those symbols anyway; perhaps they were something important, something really bad.

The door creaked deafeningly in the silence. Vibrant red painted the entire ground, got on Bobby's shoes as he cautiously stepped in to get a better look. He inspected the circular, star-like, and swirling patterns while making his way to the center of the room where Dean's body lay. He knew that demons could take quite the blow and be just fine, so he felt obligated to check for life. The knife was held at the ready as he felt for a pulse on the limply rolling neck. Nothing. He looked away, partially to inspect the symbols, but mostly because he couldn't stand the sight of Dean like this. He turned around to find a cloud of blue smoke, so thick that it blocked his vision. The last thing he thought was how great a mistake he'd made opening that door. The demon came over him entirely and everything went black.

**A/N: I apologize for my lateness. This was a pretty difficult chapter to write. But at least the story's picking up, so I believe that that's grounds for reviews, hm? Ich liebe dich. **


	42. A Jailbird And A Freebird

Sam snapped his phone shut after Bobby hung up. He hadn't said much, but Sam could hear his concern. He genuinely thought that all hope was lost. And who knew, it might have been. Bobby had been there with Dean the past week, saw how he must have been deteriorating. Sam hadn't been oblivious to his difficulty in keeping control. He knew that nothing good could come from locking him away on his own. They had been separated once before for mere hours and that ended with a body count of three hunters; who know what toll a whole week in a single room could take on his sanity. Sure, it had taken hundreds of years to break him entirely before, but now the seed was planted and he could tell that Dean was ready to burst any moment.

He hated to think of his brother as dangerous or unstable, but given the circumstances, it was pointless to lie to himself. In any other situation, he and Dean would quickly and easily decide to kill the monster. Even without the body count, Dean would say to finish it. A demon's a demon, he'd say, if they let it live, there'd only be hell to pay later. He essentially had said that, even though it was now his own head on the chopping block. Sam knew deep down that it was probably best, but he couldn't possibly bring himself to accept it because this wasn't just another case. This was his brother, brought back from the dead. His brother who had raised him and cared for him when their father wasn't around to do so. Who sold his soul to revive him, even if it meant cutting his own life down to only a year.

At the end of the day, Sam could only pray that Dean was still fighting. He knew that it would be horrible for Dean to die again. For good. He'd barely made it through the first time and this would be worse; final. But however horrible his death would be, Sam knew that if Dean lost himself, lost his mind, became like the other demons... he probably wouldn't live through that. Wouldn't want to. It already tore him to shreds to see his sanity so close to snapping, see what could only be described as madness emerge in his eyes whenever they changed. Hope and prayer were his primary lifelines now.

"So is that the plan? Just try to lock Dean away until you can 'fix' him. Adorable."

Sam jumped out of his seat and spun to see a woman casually leaning against the wall next to the door. He instantly reached for the gun on the counter, but quickly lost the ability to move. The woman grinned at him while waving a hand downwards. He was forced back to the chair and invisibly secured there. A demon. A strong demon. One familiar with his situation. Iris.

"You see, there's just a few problems with that plan of yours. Well, maybe more than a few. First, there's nothing that can 'fix' a demon, only an idiot would think that something so powerful can just be cleared away. Second, your precious Dean doesn't want to change. He's gone, he's getting closer to our side every minute, even you have to be able to see that. And last but not least," she bent so that her face was uncomfortably close to his, a subtle hint of sulfur on her breath and a grin that was somehow both sweet and terrifying on her thin lips. Her eyes glazed over to a deep, reflective purple. "I have a feeling that you're not going to be around long enough to finish the job."

* * *

In possessing the old hunter, Dean had planned to simply take control, pushing the human consciousness aside. However, he was still limited by the devil's trap. He could feel Bobby clawing for control, fighting to take his body back. He decided to remedy this as quickly as possible. He was glad to find that Bobby had decided to bring a knife, that would make things easier. He crouched down to remove the paint of the trap and instantly felt his power flow back to him. _**'Sorry, Bobby,'**_ he thought, half to himself, as he shoved the extra consciousness to the side and locked him away, _**'this would have been a lot easier if you weren't such a stubborn SOB.' **_

Dean _did_ want his own body back, ever the sentimentalist. However, seeing as it was already so torn to pieces and he would have to expend the energy to fix it anyway, he took this opportunity to do what he'd been wanting to since he got back.

In his time carving bodies in hell, Dean had once discovered the intricacies of the inner ear. Specifically, the tiny bones hidden there. He wanted to get rid of any possible weaknesses, and demons could be killed by burning their bones. Every last one. These tiny inner ear bones would not be missed, there would be no visible sign of their absence as there would if he took off a toe or something. Also, there were six of them which could easily be spread out and hidden, untraceable. He was now thinking in terms of what he really wanted, and he _really_ didn't want to die. He didn't want to be able to be killed. So if he was going to stick with his own body, he needed insurance in case someone decided to roast him.

He made quick work of it and ended up with a palmful of small bones. Pleased, he cleaned the blood off on Bobby's shirt tail and tucked them into his own pocket to deal with later. He then switched off the lights in Bobby's mind, putting him into a coma-like sleep so that he wouldn't get in the way later (something in the back of Dean's mind wouldn't let him kill him), and passed back into his own body.

Repairs were difficult and tiring, yet effective. Dean was able to put everything back together (aside from the missing bones, which proved completely unnecessary for normal function) in a matter of minutes. He lifted his renewed body off the floor and stretched before teleporting himself and Bobby out of that damned room. He left the hunter unconscious on the couch and was finally on his way to protect Sam.

**A/N: Quick updates, yay! Reviews? :) Je vous aime. **


	43. Livin' For Givin' The Devil His Dues

Sam found himself completely at the demon's mercy. Iris had tied him so tightly to the chair that his hands were numb. She also somehow took away his ability to speak or scream for help. He was currently wishing that Dean wasn't locked up. His big brother wouldn't be able to save him this time, and this time, he was in big trouble.

His heart quickened in panic when the demon finally finished tying him up and stepped in front of him. She flashed him a wide smile. "Let's get started, shall we?" She lifted an open hand and slowly closed it into a fist, eliciting a silent scream from Sam. Red hot pain coursed through his entire body and just intensified the more tightly she clenched her fist. His muscles spasmed wildly and a sweat broke on his forehead. He couldn't tell how long it lasted, but was relieved when the searing pain subsided just as suddenly as it started. Sam forced himself to look up to see why.

Iris appeared next to him with a knife, the cool blade pressed against his neck. He tried to lean away, but his bindings made this ineffective. The tip of the knife bit into the sensitive skin right at his pulse point. She sliced open the major artery with care and Sam quickly felt woozy as blood spilled in spurts in time with his panicked heartbeat. Iris wasn't just going to kill him, she was going to torture him until he bled out. She didn't need any information and she didn't want to use him as bait. She just wanted revenge. Which meant that she would make him suffer for as long as he survived.

Iris was now idly carving into his arm, cutting deep through muscle and scratching the bone at points. She made a point to be slow about it, drawing out each slice to its full potential. Sam writhed in pain and tears involuntarily rolled down his face as chunks of flesh were carved away. When she was done there, he had lost all feeling and motion in that arm. He was lightheaded and drowsy from the massive blood loss. His vision blurred as Iris moved in front of him. There was another surge of burning pain, but it was cut short.

Sam could focus just enough to see that Iris had been pinned against the wall and another blurry figure was crossing the room to her. There was talking, but Sam couldn't make it out through the ringing in his ears. He couldn't quite process what was happening, meanwhile slipping in and out of consciousness. He figured that he'd bleed out soon. If not, perhaps this other demon would be merciful enough to just kill him quickly.

_'I'm sorry Dean,' _he thought, trying to accept the fact that he was going to die, _'I tried.'_

* * *

Sam was easy to find, (for some reason, his hex bags were gone). Dean tracked him to some motel in Nebraska and was there in an instant. He appeared just outside the room. It was silent, but he could clearly feel Iris inside. He burst through the door and directed a blast at the demoness, sending her back against the wall and pinning her there.

Iris looked terrified, "you're here? How? You were trapped."

Dean grinned, "no cage can hold me, sweetheart." He clenched his fist and twisted it in the air and was rewarded with a pained shriek.

"Just kill me," she said, hiding the plea with an angry tone, "you don't need me, so just get it over with."

Dean shook his head, "not so fast, I just want to know a couple things." He got closer and lowered his voice to convey his seriousness, "Who's your boss? Who wants me alive?"

She chuckled and shook her head but said nothing. Dean again clenched his fist, causing Iris to spasm against the wall, whimpering weakly. "Tell me" he commanded.

Her breaths were coming in little hitched gasps and her head was limply hanging. "Who do you think?" She managed, voice grave and quivering. "My boss. Marik's boss. Your boss. He calls all the shots. His word is final. Why he wants you, I can't begin to imagine. But he's got big plans for you, Dean." She looked up at him with purple eyes and a lopsided grin. "And he'll get his way, no matter what you do."

"I don't have a boss." Was Dean's only response before he finally killed her in a flicker of orange light.

**A/N: Wow this is late. And short. Sorry. But hey, it's here now. Reviews? Maybe? Te amo. **


	44. Humpty Dumpty

A pair of strong hands was jostling Sam's shoulders, slowly pulling him back to reality. He didn't want to wake up, the dark unconsciousness was too comfortable. Even if he wanted to, he could hardly scrape up the energy to open his eyes. He could start to make out a frantic voice.

"Sam? Sammy? Come on, dammit, wake up!"

His mind was working sluggishly. He first registered the voice as Dean's, but couldn't process why it seemed so out of place. He then heard his worried and slightly panicked tone and wondered why he would be so scared. Had someone been hurt? He then made out his words. Was he hurt? What happened? He forced himself to think, remember, though his mind drowsily protested. Bobby had called to check in, give him an update on Dean's condition.

_Dean_

That's what seemed so strange: Dean was supposed to be locked up in Bobby's safe room. Because he might be dangerous. Because he was a demon. So how was he here?

He tried to refocus. What had happened after Bobby called?

The hands left his shoulders and he could hear aggravated mumblings that sounded suspiciously like Latin. Sam slowly became aware of his condition: a dizzying mix of lightheadedness and nausea, a numbness in most of his left arm and a deep stabbing pain in his bicep and shoulder, a sharp sting in his neck, and a painful ache radiating through every bone and muscle.

Then he remembered. Iris. How she'd trapped him, bled him, tortured him. He thought she was going to kill him. But then another demon showed up and stopped her. Only now did he make the connection that the demon that saved him had been Dean. But again, he wondered _how_ Dean could have been there to save him. He was supposed to still be locked up.

Now without Dean trying to shake him awake, Sam quickly found his partial consciousness again slipping away. Just like falling asleep. He liked that all of the pain and disorientation would disappear soon...

The sharp bite of a knife on his chest jolted him back again. He forced his eyes open to find his brother crouched in front of him, demon-eyed, knife in hand. He winced as the blade sliced an X over his anti-possession tattoo. "Dean? W-what are you...?" He weakly started to ask.

Dean stood and dropped the bloody knife to the floor. "You are _not_ gonna die." He said forcefully. "I'm not gonna let you."

Sam's eyes finally focused as a cloud of dark blue smoke entered his line of vision. Despite his fatigue and general weakness, his head whipped back and eyes snapped open as the smoke make its way down his throat, snaked into all the control centers.

His entire body fell limp and his attention was brought inwards to the invading presence.

_**'Sorry about this, Sammy.' **_Dean's voice rang in his head, (not really sounding all that sorry).

Sam processed that he was possessed. That _Dean _was possessing him. It duly freaked him out. _'What are you doing in my head?' _He directed the thought (small part scared, small part angry, large part confused) at Dean.

_'__**You're in really bad shape'**_ he replied, though he sounded preoccupied. _**'It was either this or take you to a hospital and you lose the arm and probably end up dead or brain damaged.'**_

Sam wasn't sure how to respond, still trying to get past the fact that his brother, the demon, was possessing him. Even so, he was beginning to regain feeling in the arm that he couldn't move. The dizziness and nausea were clearing away and he was starting to think more clearly. Dean was healing him from the inside out.

After a short time, he spoke up again, _**'there, good as new.'**_

_'Dean, how are you even here?' _Sam asked, unable to concentrate on anything but the impossibility of his brother's presence.

**'Hold that thought.' **Dean responded before leaving just as suddenly as he came.

Sam took back his body as soon as Dean was gone. It took a second, but he was finally able to move on his own accord. He idly ran a hand over his arm where Iris had carved down to the bone, finding Dean's repair work flawless. When he stood, Dean was already back in his own body and casually leaning against the wall.

"You were saying?" He continued the mental conversation without hesitation, and for some reason refusing to look his brother in the eye.

Sam eyed him warily. "Um yeah. How are you here? Bobby didn't let you out, did he?"

"I let myself out." Dean replied easily, "didn't want to be there anymore."

"But that's impossible. That room is a demon lockbox." Sam insisted, wary of the undertone in Dean's voice. It was the same odd tone that was present when he told Sam about killing those hunters, or whenever he talked about Hell, or when he explained just what had happened to Marik. In short, Sam had learned that nothing good came along with that voice.

"Maybe for the minor leagues it is. You're welcome for saving your life, by the way."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

Dean scoffed, "well you'd better appreciate it, because it's the last time."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean I'm leaving. I keep putting you in danger, and I don't want to do that. You can take care of yourself from now on. You managed to survive seven years while I was in the pit. You go on with your life, I'll go on with mine." He said it all very matter-of-factly, making clear that he had no intention to negotiate. His face was hard and his eyes, though human in appearance, were cold, objective, detached, and somewhat foreign to his brother.

Sam furrowed his brow, "isn't that what we've been trying to do? Get on with our lives?"

Dean gave a small chuckle, "yeah, I thought so too. But come on, how long did you think that was gonna last, really? I'm a demon. You're a hunter. Let's stop pretending."

"Dean—" Sam started, but was quickly cut off.

"_Stop_ calling me that." The demon said angrily, all lights in the small motel room flickering for emphasis. All of the pain and hate and disgust and anger boiling inside him was evident in his hardened features. Sam could now see the full effect that being locked away had had on him. He was beyond broken, and all the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't be able to piece his sanity back together again. He continued, staring at the musty carpet through narrowed eyes. "I'm not _him_ anymore. I can't be. Because _he_ was better than this. _He_ would've been able to stay sane for his little brother. Dean's gone. We both accept that, and things will be a whole lot easier. I don't want you to go looking for me." He finally looked Sam in the eye, "If we ever meet again, it'll be as a hunter and a demon. Nothing else. I'm sorry."

With that, he was gone, leaving Sam with a body and a puddle of his own blood to deal with.

**A/N: Dun dun dunnnn. Reviews? Minä rakastan sinua. **


	45. Who Ya Gonna Call?

Ted was content. That was all that could really be said about his current state of living. It had been about two months since he'd been returned to his normal life unscathed. He did as Dean had suggested before disappearing; the first thing he did once his demon was gone was visit Gina, his ex. After endless apologies and promises, she finally agreed to move back in, if only to help him sober up. In the past months, he'd been pretty much clean. He hadn't been able to find a job yet, but the road ahead looked positive.

He should have been happy that he'd been able to more or less put his life back together, but after all that had happened, he couldn't help but look at the world a bit differently. He now knew what was out there in the shadows and it scared him. He was constantly on edge knowing that there might be demons after him and found himself suspecting everyone. Still, he was comforted by the fact that he was protected. All of the items Dean had given him were, he considered, put to proper use. The hex bags were stowed around the house in places they wouldn't be disturbed, the symbol on the doormat was intact and would stay that way, the holy water and salt were stowed next to his bed, and he always kept the pendant in his pocket along with the crumpled paper with Dean's phone number scrawled on it. It was good knowing that he had someone to call in the case of an emergency no one else would understand.

In all truthfulness, Ted almost missed his friendly demon. He didn't miss being possessed at all, but in that time he'd come to think of Dean almost as a friend. Looking past the fact that Dean was a demon simply using his body, he was, oddly, good company. It was somewhat of an unexplainable relationship.

Which is why he was the first person Ted thought to call when trouble came knocking.

He was surprised when the police showed up at his door with an arrest warrant. He'd let them cuff him and take him in, promising a panicking Gina that he'd sort everything out. He'd sat quietly in the caged back of the police cruiser wondering what he'd done wrong. Now, he was in a small interrogation room, handcuffed to the table. Someone he vaguely recognized as Officer Vega entered the room.

"Well Ted Cassidy," she began, some surprise in her voice, "I thought I'd never see you in here sober. I mean, I knew you were a drunk, but I never thought you were a psychopath."

Ted was taken aback, "what're you talkin about?"

"Do you remember where you were on June twentieth?"

Two months ago. That was when he was possessed. He pieced together that they must have caught him for something Dean had done while using his body. He wasn't sure what to tell her, so he simply shrugged and responded, "can't say that I do."

She was starting to sound annoyed. "You sure about that? Because if you did happen to remember, you should probably tell us now." He just shrugged again. "Do you know why you're here, Ted?"

"No clue," he said, trying to put a gesture with the sentiment, only to have his left arm caught by the handcuffs.

"We got a call from Denver pd saying that you, our own town drunk, are the primary suspect in their investigation for first degree arson resulting in the death of almost a hundred people. They have video evidence confirming that you were there. So I'll ask again, you got anything to tell us?"

He had no idea what to do. He _was _innocent, but he was there. There was no way to convince them that it wasn't him. Then he remembered the crumpled paper he kept with him for just this kind of situation. "Phone call," he said hopefully, "I'm allowed one phone call, right?"

Vega looked slightly confused. "Sure, but I don't see how that'll help your case right now."

He nodded, "I'd like my call now."

Ted's cell was taken out of evidence and placed in the middle of the table, Dean's number dialed. Officer Vega had left the room to listen from behind the one-way mirror.

_"Hello?" _Dean answered after only the first ring.

Ted was relieved, "hey, Dean?" He verified.

_"Ted?"_

"Yeah, hey you know how you told me to call if anythin goes wrong? Well I'm in a heap of trouble and I was hopin you could come help sort it out."

He sounded suddenly grave, _"What kind of trouble?"_

"Police."

_"On my way." _Dean said simply before hanging up.


	46. Somebody To Lean On

The demon had been staring at the old house and contemplating doing something horrible to number two on his three-person-long 'do not kill' list for his contribution to what happened to number one when he got the call from number three. He was slightly annoyed by the distraction, especially because it was a simple matter with police. But he'd sworn to himself to protect only three people and if one needed help, he would do whatever was necessary. The poor sap on the other end didn't even know what had become of Dean and expected the help of the same relatively peaceful demon.

He disappeared from Singer Salvage with a mental promise to come back later, reappearing inside some police station in Texas. He grinned slightly at how well he'd pinpointed the location, appearing just behind the two police officers and one rather unimpressive FBI agent staring through the window at a scared and impatient Ted. Before doing anything else, he shot a grin at the security camera and sent a surge of power through it, rendering it useless. He stepped forward to stand right next to the fed as if he had any right to be there and mimicked the man's authoritative and pensive stance, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's innocent." Everyone jumped at his voice, only now noticing his presence. The fed's hand instinctively went to his gun and the female officer (Officer Vega, according to her name tag) spoke up after briefly looking him over.

"Who are you and how did you get in here? This is a closed interrogation."

"I'm Dean," he answered with a small grin, the statement feeling inherently false, "and it doesn't matter how I got in, I'm already in."

"Wait, the Dean our perp just called?" the other officer asked, justifiably confused as it had been no more than a minute since Ted was granted his call.

"One and only. Again," he nodded to the man oblivious to the happenings outside his little room, "Ted here's innocent. I think you should let him go."

The demon could feel the fed's curiosity. "What makes you so sure about that?"

"You're holding him for the fires in Denver bout two months back, right?"

"Yeah."

He grinned sweetly, "I know that he's innocent because I did it." He felt a strange fear, curiosity, recognition and, was that excitement? The young agent's reaction confused him, but he decided it wasn't important at the moment.

"Don't think you can take the fall for your buddy," Vega said, feeling as though she should apprehend Dean and take him in for questioning, but for some reason afraid to make any move towards him, "we have video evidence. He was the only one at the crime scene at the time."

"Doesn't mean it was him." He responded with a shrug. "he was possessed."

The fed cocked an eyebrow, "possessed?" the demon was not oblivious to the fed's rising fear and again the strange hint of excitement.

"By a demon. Specifically, me." He said, eyes fading to an unnatural blue. The lights started to flicker frantically and all eyes were widened with fear and confusion. "Now let's try this again," a twitch of his hand pushed all three back to the wall and rendered them motionless. His tone was calm but dangerous. "Drop all his charges, he's innocent." He turned his frightening blue eyes to the FBI agent, "you can go ahead and pin everything on me, just add to pile of things the bureau's after me for. Tell them it was Dean Winchester," His eyes widened slightly at the name, "And wish whoever's on my case good luck for me, would ya?" He then addressed both cops. They were struggling to move, not fully aware of the huge threat that this demon was, "Ted told you it was me and he's free to go, understood?" There was a subtle nodding of heads. "Great," he said, satisfied, "Oh, and if you want to keep your job and stay out of a mental hospital, you probably shouldn't say anything about this. If you don't cooperate, I _will_ be back, and I won't be as nice next time."

He wanted very badly to just kill all three then and there and send Ted back home. However, he figured it wouldn't help Ted's case much if he disappeared and the rest of the precinct found the three officials dead. He released them and gave Ted one last glance before disappearing.

* * *

Ted waited somewhat impatiently, wondering how long it could possibly take Dean to get there, seeing as he could appear anywhere within seconds. He didn't know exactly how the demon would be able to help him, but he was confident that he would find some way. Impossible things did seem to be his specialty. Technically, Dean was the guilty one anyway; it only made sense that he should be the one to sort it out.

A couple minutes ticked past and still no one had come back to the little room to continue questioning him. Finally, some sign of help: the lights started flickering. Ted loosed a relieved huff, sure that he'd be out of there soon. As soon as the lights were restored, his cell, still on the table, vibrated once. He leaned forward to peek at it, not wanting to raise suspicion. It displayed the simple message: "Tell them the truth." He was a bit confused, pretty sure that the truth would sound exactly like a drunkard's babble, especially coming from him. However if Dean thought it would help, then he'd give it a try.

There was a stretch of silence before Vega re-entered the room, trying hard not to look as terrified and confused as she was. Even so, she was still pale and couldn't quite stop her hands from shaking. She spoke a bit too loudly to try and cover the waver in her voice. "I want to hear the truth. What _actually_ happened?"

Ted thought about how exactly to explain. He leaned an elbow on the table and supported his head on his fist. He stared at the wall for a moment deciding what to say before looking up at the cop.

"You religious?"

Her brow furrowed slightly, "I suppose so."

He nodded slightly. "Do you believe in demons?"

Her eyes widened at the question. "If I say yes...?"

"'S the same story either way, I just wanna get an idea of how crazy I'm gonna sound when I tell it."

"What's the _truth_?"

"I was there when the fires started, but I didn't do it. It was a demon. I was possessed."

She looked surprised and scared. Ted wondered if Dean was still there when Officer Vega glanced back at the one-way mirror. He continued, slightly desperate, "look, I know how crazy it sounds. That was him, the guy I called. I don't know a whole lot bout what happened, but it wasn't me. I swear."

She looked unsure, a small pause before she spoke again. "What was his name?"

Ted was slightly surprised by the question, but saw no harm in telling the truth. They couldn't do anything to the demon anyway. "Dean," he answered. "Name was Dean Winchester."

He watched intently as Vega glanced back at the mirror one last time, took a calming breath, and nodded slightly. She pulled out a small key and unlocked the cuff holding him to the table. "You're free to go."

He rubbed his wrist where the cuff had been a bit too tight and stood. "Great." He wanted to ask what Dean had said to them, but decided not to push his freedom too far. He received wary looks from the other two as Vega escorted him out.

**A/N: So sorry for all the long waits. I'll try to keep up. Anyway, please review. Jeg elsker dig. 3**


	47. Angel On Your Shoulder

Dean was gone. For good, it seemed. Sam tried hard to accept that fact. Dean had said so himself, that he was changed, different, gone. However, Sam couldn't bring himself to accept it. The whole situation just didn't quite add up: he came running when Sam was in danger, despite the impossible circumstances; used Bobby to break free of the safe room, but kept him alive and unharmed; left indefinitely to keep Sam safe. He went to such extreme measures to protect those he claimed not to care about, and Sam couldn't help but think that there was still some remnant of his brother. Dean always had been so stubborn, it was hard to believe that he would let go entirely.

So he kept looking. Both for some kind of cure and for the demon himself. He just hoped that he'd be able to ground him like it had been at first. Of course something would have to be done if more bodies dropped, but Sam definitely wouldn't be the one to gank his brother.

It had been a few days since Dean left and he had found just one lead: Death himself would be able to revert a demon back to a human. However, such a path had more than a few obstacles. Primarily that Death was locked away and to free him would a) probably spell disaster and b) require more than a little human sacrifice, which Sam was definitely not prepared to do. So that was off the table.

At the end of his nerves, Sam resorted to prayer. He'd never met or even seen evidence of angels, but according to Chuck, they did exist. So he prayed with everything in his power, every day since Dean left, for one to maybe drop by, give some advice or even a helping hand.

After four days, his efforts paid off. He was just about losing faith when an angel finally appeared.

"Sam Winchester," a slightly british voice came from across the room while Sam was studying some police reports that looked like something demonic. "Sure have been hearing from you a lot lately."

Sam turned from his work to find the man sitting on the motel room's kitchen counter. "Who are you?"

"You called for an angel, didn't you? Name's Balthazar." He hopped down and crossed his arms, casually leaning back against the counter. "I'm here to answer your prayers," he said somewhat sarcastically.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "you're an angel?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"No," he said, looking over the spindly man, "I was just kind of expecting something more, I don't know, impressive."

"This is just a vessel," he tugged at his leather jacket, "my true form has eight wings and three heads and, I assure you, is quite a bit more impressive. Now do you want my help or not?"

"So you _can_ do something?"

"I can try."

"How?"

"Well first off, your brother was never supposed to be a demon."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you two were a huge part of a grand plan. Dean was supposed to take a quick trip downstairs and get pulled back out by an angel called Castiel. Unfortunately, Cassie got himself killed and wasn't there to rescue him. So he got stuck in Hell and now here we are with an out of control demon and an astonishing lack of celestial order. There were some big plans for you two. Can't say I liked them, but big plans nonetheless. Now they don't know what to do upstairs. It's chaos. That's why you got me. They aren't concerned with your problems."

"Why are you?"

"Well I'm not exactly connected with heaven anymore. It's run by a bunch of bigots and blind followers. Right about now, they're having a pissing match over who's in charge since God is MIA. That's why it took so long to get through. Anyway, your situation intrigues me."

It was all interesting and he'd have to ask more about it later, but frankly, Sam only cared about one thing at the moment: "So you say you can help?"

"I said I can try."

"And...?"

"A few things. First, I can't do anything if he's completely corrupted. I can only help if there's some bit of human soul left." Sam nodded, not entirely confident, but still hopeful. "Second," Balthazar continued, "you're going to have to find him on your own. There are some... limitations for me there. And lastly, know that this is a huge favor. Consider yourself entirely in my debt. So do we have an agreement?"

Sam thought about it for a moment. Balthazar's conditions weren't unreasonable. He suspected, hoped, that there was still some humanity left in his brother, though he couldn't be sure. But hope and prayer had gotten him this far so why stop now. Finding Dean may prove more difficult, but he was already working on that and would continue to do so, deal or not. And, he figured, it couldn't be so bad being indebted to a angel. If it were a demon, he would take it into serious consideration before accepting, but with an angel, what was the worst that could happen? "Sounds good," he said finally, "thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Just call me when you find him." He disappeared and Sam went back to work with a new hope and refreshed ambition.

**A/N: So sorry for lateness and shortness. Again. It took a while to decide exactly where to go with this. But it's picking up again. I can has reviews? Ti amo. **


	48. So Close, And Yet So Far

With new hope and motivation, Sam worked tirelessly at finding Dean. He kept an eye out for common aliases, any suspicious events, demonic omens. Anything that may lead to his brother. He even tried calling a few times, which (unsurprisingly) proved useless. It was just as well, he wasn't sure what to say even if he did answer. Beg him to come back? Make up some disaster? Perhaps he just wanted to reassure himself that Dean was still alive, still going.

He stumbled upon a couple unrelated demons in his search and took the opportunity to try to get information. All reacted the same way: terrified and angry at the mention of Dean, and overall unwilling to give any information.

After quite a bit of failure, Sam decided to try a different approach. He dug up and attempted no less than six different summoning rituals. No prevail. However unhelpful that crossroads demon had been, she was right. Dean couldn't be summoned for some reason. Maybe he was too powerful, maybe he was too human. Sam hoped for the latter.

A week passed. Two. Three. He was starting to get desperate when the call came. He answered the phone to a number he didn't recognize.

_"Heya Sam." _The vaguely familiar voice on the other end started energetically. A voice he hadn't heard in a long time and was rather alright with not hearing again. Not as if he hated the guy, just that working with him was painstaking and kind of an altogether crapshoot.

"Um, Garth?"

_"Yessir. I need to talk to you about something."_

"About what?"

Garth continued, uncertain,_ "so your brother, Dean. He, uh, died a few years ago, right?"_

This peaked Sam's interest. "Right..."

_"And you decided to just bury him?"_

"Yeah..."

_"Well, uh, you wouldn't happen to be aware that he's out and about."_

He was all too aware, yet he wondered how Garth was. Play dumb, Sam told himself. "What do you mean?"

_"I was looking into this case in Denver, couple fires, lots of bodies, not important. But they dug up some security footage and I got a look at it. Turns out it was some demon. Got a good look at its eyes and it was weird. Blue, not black."_

"Cut to the chase, Garth."

_"Hold on, I'm getting there! We found the guy, local police took him in soon as I got there. Wasn't possessed anymore. He asked for a phone call. Guy on the other end said he's on his way. Didn't ask where or what for. Then not even a minute later, guess who shows up? The same demon, same blue eyes, sporting your brother's meat suit."_

Definitely Dean. "What happened?"

_"Not much, really. Couple threats, but didn't really do much. It was weird, kinda like he was helping the guy. Told the cops to let him go. I was 'FBI' so he told me to pin everything on Dean. Well, what he said was pin everything on him, Dean Winchester. Just thought you'd probably wanna know that there's some demon out there pretending to be him."_

"Well thanks. You can let me take care of it."

_"No problemo. Hey I was just wondering, why did you bury him? Why not the good old fashioned hunter's burial?"_

Sam didn't like the question and knew that Garth wouldn't like the answer. "Thanks for the info, Garth" was his only response.

_"Alright. I'm just saying, there's a couple good reasons why we burn bodies."_ He sounded a bit suspicious, trying to hint to something without actually saying it. It was easy to forget that Garth was quite a bit sharper than he seemed. Sam worried slightly that he had figured out that the demon really was Dean, but couldn't quite imagine what kind of reaction he'd have. However, he decided to choose words carefully so as not to arouse any suspicion from the hunter.

"I'll take care of the demon problem," he repeated, "I just need you to tell me where it was and who else might have seen."

It took a while to convince Garth not to go chasing Dean. He eventually got the location and two names and decided to head out as soon as possible. Excited with the new lead, as soon as possible turned out to be just about when he hung up the phone.

Sam ended up driving all night, but he didn't mind. He felt that he was so close to getting his brother back. This may be just the lead he'd been looking for. Better yet, according to Garth's story, it seemed like Dean was still somewhat himself, even if he denied it. He had come running when (he assumed) Ted called for help. Plus, he showed mercy where a run-of-the-mill demon would have killed anything in sight. The way Sam saw it, there was still hope.

**A/N: Late. Short. That's the new norm, I guess. Sorry. Life's busy. Reviews though? Seni seviyorum. **


	49. Renegade

**A/N: Remember when I updated twice a day? Heh heh good times. I'm thinking that every other day is a good pace for me at the moment. I hope that that works for you too, my lovely readers. Enjoy. **

The small town had a single police station. Very small, no more than ten people total, only six desks. Sam arrived relatively early in the day, dressed to the nines. He flashed his badge at the receptionist, requesting officers Vega and Mathews. The woman mumbled something about the town 'seeing more action in the last week than the last fifteen years' and quickly obliged.

He was directed to a conference room and met there by one officer. She immediately shook his hand, "morning, agent. Sherry Vega. What can I help you with?" She gestured for them to sit down at the small table.

"I'm here to talk to you about that case from Denver."

She looked slightly upset by the topic, uneasy. "Yeah, strange one, that."

"And I understand that the Denver PD called for you to take in a suspect?"

She nodded tensely, "yeah, Ted Cassidy. Infamous town drunk. Nobody'd seen him for a few days before. He couldn't account for where he was. They sent us some video evidence that was pretty solid."

Sam nodded, he'd been right. It was Ted who'd called Dean. "So why'd you let him go?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if trying to say something but unable to find the words. "Well I gotta be crazy," she said finally, under her breath. Then to him, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

She rest her arms on the table, stared at the wall, and wrung her hands, deciding how to say it without sounding like a nut case. She chuckled a little and shook her head, "you religious?"

"Why?"

She looked resigned to sounding insane, "you wouldn't happen to believe in demons, would you?"

"Why?" He asked again, stoic.

"Cause I met one. Our suspect called him, it, I don't know. Showed up, told us to let him go or else." She shrugged, "then it just disappeared. Thin air." She looked up at him, "honestly, I was scared. I was pretty sure he wasn't bluffing. The other fed that was there, he thought so too. So yeah, we let the guy go to save our own behinds."

Sam nodded. He'd already heard the story from Garth, he just wanted to see it first hand. "Is it possible that you got this on a security camera?"

Vega's eyes widened, "you believe me?"

"Say I do, might you have caught it on camera?"

"I'm not sure, maybe. Haven't really looked."

"Mind if we take a look now?"

She led him to a small room with multiple monitors displaying everything from the front entrance to the holding cells. A little overkill for such a small establishment, Sam thought, yet convenient for this situation. Vega dug up the footage from the exact day, two weeks prior, and the exact hour. She sped through a few uneventful minutes and stopped when the small screen displayed three people staring into an interrogation room. Officer Vega on the right next to who Sam assumed to be Mathews, and Garth on the far left. After a split second of static, there were suddenly four in the room. The new arrival stared at the oblivious three before shooting a grin directly at the camera. There were a couple more seconds of static before the picture clearly showed only three people in the room again, all looking scared and flustered.

Vega stopped the playback, "I don't understand, how could it not catch any of that?"

"Go back a little," Sam instructed. She did so. "There," he said when she reached the point where the extra person appeared. They let it play for a few seconds and paused it exactly when the demon looked up at the camera. The first time around had been so quick that no details could be made out. Now with the picture paused, the face was clear. Dean's face, complete with a wide and devious grin and dark eyes.

The footage was greyscale, but looking closely, Sam could see that his eyes were not the inky black of a regular demon. Rather, they registered as a dark shade of grey. He could only assume that it really was Dean, but couldn't quite believe it. It seemed like he'd been searching for his brother for so long and now he'd found him so easily. It slightly surprised him that Dean had let himself be caught on camera. He'd always been good at slipping under the radar, but now he was doing the opposite. He was shooting the camera a frightening smile, as if sending anyone who sees the footage a howdy-do.

"That's him. Said his name was Dean. Dean, um, Wes-win-was..."

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, that's it. How'd you know?"

"Bureau's been looking for him for a long time. I'm the one assigned to his case," he smoothly lied.

"Oh. Uh, he said something about that."

"What?"

"Just to say good luck in finding him."

* * *

Sam thanked Officer Vega for her help and left the station. He was now headed to Ted's house, the address of which he got on his way out. He knew that his plan was a long shot, but he felt so close to finally finding Dean that he didn't care.

He wasn't even sure if Ted would cooperate. They had only met once and it was kind of under strange circumstances. However, he seemed to be the closest connection to Dean available. When Ted had called for help with the police, according to Garth, Dean was there in under a minute. Sam figured that, Ted being a innocent human and not an experienced hunter, Dean would be there to protect him if he called. It was also a reinforcement to the idea that Dean was still somewhat himself. Protecting those you care about wasn't exactly demon norm.

Hope seemed to be rising by the minute.

**A/N2: Reviews, as always, are much appreciated. Anh yêu em. **


	50. There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

Sam pulled up to a house small enough to pass for a trailer home and double checked the address before going up to knock on the screen door. He waited nervously, still not quite sure of how he'd convince Ted to help. The inner wooden door creaked open and the vaguely familiar face peered out. His features went from confused, to surprised, to concerned, to confused again.

"Sam?" He said finally, "What're you doin' here?"

"Hey, Ted. I, uh, I need your help."

Ted glanced back into the house before stepping outside to talk. "Now what could ya possibly need _my_ help for?"

"It's Dean. I can't find him."

"And?"

"Well he's kind of gone off the rails. If I don't find him... well, I need to. Fast."

"How bad could it be? I mean, he ain't all that bad, right?"

Sam shook his head, "when you were possessed, did you see Marik and Iris, those other demons?"

"Yeah..."

"Think that, but about ten times worse."

Ted was looking worried. While possessed, he'd quickly learned that most things those two dealt with were either life or death situations or apocalyptic scenarios. "Well how'd I be able to help? I don' know anythin' about all that monster stuff you deal with."

"You called him a little while ago for some help with the police, right?"

"Yeah. He came and helped jus' like he said he would."

"That's it. Just call him back."

"Why can't you?"

"He's kind of trying to stay away from me. Long story. But it'd be a big help."

He hesitated. "How do ya know he's gonna come?"

"How do you know he isn't?"

He thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone, "I'll call 'im but that's it. I don' wanna get involved. I got a life now, I jus' wanna forget about all this soon as I can."

"Can't blame you. Tell him that some demons found you," he instructed, "and don't mention that I'm here."

Ted nodded slightly and reluctantly dialed.

* * *

The demon had been keeping busy. After taking care of Ted's police problem, he carefully decided just where to put his six small bones. A former hunter, he knew better than to hide them anyplace with significance, so three were dropped into various large bodies of water. However, he also knew that Sam would assume he knew better and would overlook obvious places. Therefore, one was buried six feet under in the same place he once was and another was somewhere among the endless clutter at Bobby's. The last one he'd gone so far as to take back to Hell with him to hide there. All in all, he couldn't have been more safe.

After this was taken care of, his days consisted mostly of hunting down demons and his nights were spent drinking and enjoying himself. While his human side may have been sated with whiskey and women, his dominant demonic side preferred normally lethal amounts of the former and the lives of the latter. He let himself enjoy every second of his more demonic actions, any inklings of humanity, such as mercy or remorse, trumped by the sheer sadistic joy.

He had just finished off a nest of ten or so demons, his second hunt of the day. Afterward, he'd treated himself to their power-laden blood, also funneling some into a flask for later. This had been getting more and more common since he'd realized not only how good it tasted, but also how much stronger it made him. Plus, it gave demons another reason to fear him. He was idly wiping his hands clean and looking over the three expertly bled-out bodies before him when his phone rang.

He wasn't really sure why he answered it anymore, force of habit perhaps. He quickly finished cleaning off his right hand and dug the ringing phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

_"Hey Dean." _The familiar voice responded, sounding hesitant,_ "I might need some more help here."_

He sighed, impatient. "Again? What is it? I'm not a get out of jail free card, you know."

Ted paused, seeming somewhat taken aback by his blunt and impatient tone,_ "no, no police. They, uh, they found me. The demons."_

He was wary of how unsure Ted sounded. "How many?"

He thought for a bit too long and answered slowly, _"three."_

"And you want my help?"

_"I was hopin. 'Cause I don know what to do."_

The demon lowered his voice slightly, giving it an underlying dangerous quality, "then why are you lying to me?"

_"What?"_

"You're lying, I can hear it. Usually, if you want someone's help, you tell them the truth."

_"I-I don–"_ he stuttered out.

"Because usually," he was sounding angrier, "people are a lot less likely to cooperate if you lie to them." He suddenly switched back to a calm and casual voice, "so what's the truth, hm? Someone there looking for me?"

There was a long pause. He could hear Ted swallow hard and take a deep breath before answering, _"I guess you're just gonna have to come an' find out."_

**A/N: I still love you even though I don't update as fast anymore. Reviews?**


	51. Behind Blue Eyes

Annoyed would best describe the demon's feelings after Ted hung up on him. It was obvious that the man had been lying about being in trouble, however he was curious as to who had prompted him to call. Some hunter probably. Or perhaps it actually was a demon looking for him, which wouldn't be too surprising. Wouldn't be the first demon with a death wish.

He could easily piece together how a hunter may have found him through Ted. Going to the police station to help him was risky. He knew this but he just had to help the guy, felt obligated to hold up his promise. He did disable the cameras, but he just _had_ to tease them a bit first. He kicked himself for putting his face on video before realizing that it didn't really matter.

He still had these automatic reactions due to leftover hunter's instincts. However, being the powerful, dangerous, less-than-human thing he was now, he realized that he really didn't need to worry about a couple humans with tough talk and badges. A relief, at the very least.

He decided to go, curious as to who or what wanted him; confident that he'd easily be able to overpower whatever he found. He wanted to know what had the nerve to track him down. He carelessly tossed away the (once white, now red) rag he'd used to wipe off his hands and stowed his flask of blood in his jacket, taking one last look at his hunt's resulting carnage before disappearing.

* * *

"Is he coming?" Sam asked when the call was ended.

"I think so. Sounded kinda mad though."

"Yeah I bet he did. So he didn't fall for it?"

"No, but it sounded like he was curious." Ted was unsure of what to say, staring at his shoes and idly kicking up some dirt. "So, uh, we done here?"

"I'm pretty sure he's coming, so when he gets here, we're out of your hair for good. But he's going to lock on to you, so we have to stay here until he shows."

"We?"

"Yeah, I've got a... friend coming to help out. Just have to make a call."

Ted watched with some confusion as Sam made his 'call'. Sam clasped his hands and closed his eyes, hesitantly speaking into the air. "Balthazar, I, uh, I hope you can hear this. I've got him, so... Come on down." He opened his eyes and looked around hopefully.

"Some call," Ted commented sarcastically, "who'd you say this friend of yours was?"

"Well, not really a friend," he started to explain, but stopped when he heard the rustle of wings to the left of him.

Both turned to the man who'd just appeared, straightening his jacket. "Hello." Taking notice of Ted's confusion, he introduced himself, speaking in somewhat of a rush, "Balthazar. Angel. You're not our demon. Who are you? No don't answer that, I don't care." He turned to address Sam, "where is he?"

"He's coming."

"Coming? I thought you said you had him. I flew here from Barcelona, I left in the middle of a dinner party."

Sam pointed up to the quickly darkening sky, "see that? He's coming. You said to call when I found him. I found him, so I called."

Meanwhile, Ted was backing up to sit on the the doorstep, looking overwhelmed.

"What's wrong with him?" Balthazar asked.

Ted shook his head, "well I've had more than enough crazy today, so I'm jus' gonna pretend this is all normal. When'll he be here?"

"Any second," Sam assured, "then we're gone for good. And thanks again for your help."

As if on cue, the demon appeared behind them. No one noticed until his voice sounded, dangerous with thinly covered anger, "heya, Ted," he addressed the only person he could see head-on, "this your trouble?"

The angel reacted first. He transported the three of them away, leaving Ted to wonder wether or not any of that was real.

* * *

They ended up in a small, industrial-looking room. Dean ended up inside a complex, pre-set trap. He was standing in the middle of a circle of Enochian symbols, normal devil's traps on the ceiling above him and on all four walls around him, all drawn in some kind of blood. The demon looked over all of the traps with some amusement, "a little overkill, don't you think? And are we on a boat?"

Balthazar nodded, looking impressed with himself, "iron hull, surrounded by salt water. You're not going anywhere."

"Well, looks like we're talking then." He turned to the hunter, "Sammy," he began with a lopsided grin, "I should've known it was you. Didn't I tell you not to come looking for me? But then again, we both knew that wasn't going to happen. And who's your friend?" He closed his eyes and sniffed the air, swiveling his head to look back at Balthazar, "he's definitely not human. Not a demon either. But powerful, I can tell." He opened his demonic blue eyes, "so what are you?"

"An angel." Balthazar answered simply.

The demon barked out a humorless laugh, "an angel, well would you look at that! Come to smite me, Cupid? My baby brother recruit you because he's too weak to do it himself?"

Sam spoke up, "Balthazar says he can help. I told you I was looking for a cure and I found one."

"Now what, exactly, do you mean 'cure'? You mean make me human again? Trick the system just so you can have your brother back? Sorry, no. I'll stay immortal, powerful, and damn happy." He finished with a demented smile.

"No. You said you wanted a cure, you told me you didn't want to be a monster."

His eyes flicked back to normal, bright and excited, "That was before I found out how _fun_ it is. Being able to hold someone's life in your hand, let them scream and squirm as much as they want 'cause when that one gets boring," he snapped his fingers, "dead. On to the next. Having so much authority that every demon runs and hides at my mention and every human ought to." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking blissful, "that kind of power, it's addictive. Let loose once then suddenly you can't get enough." He opened his eyes to look at his brother, "now why would I give that up just so that I can be miserable for a few more years before I die and go to hell and start the whole thing over again?"

Sam shook his head, choosing to focus on just the last statement because the rest was making reality far too real far too fast, "you wouldn't go to hell. The only reason you went there in the first place is because you sold your soul. You don't belong there."

He chuckled, "now that's just a load of crap. You know what my job down there was?"

"It doesn't matter what happened in hell," Sam cut him off, "minus all the demon crap, you don't belong there."

"That's not my point, let me finish. My job downstairs was to torture the newcomers. Slice 'em up nice and pretty, give 'em a good 'welcome to hell'. Day in day out, for six hundred years. Now let's take a second and imagine just how many 'I don't belong here' sob stories I've heard. And you know what I learned? All of them deserved to be there, and the majority were about five times as holy as either of us will ever be. So buck up and don't try to fool yourself. We were both headed for the pit, I just happened to get there first. Now there's no going back."

**A/N: Would have had this up sooner, but there were some extenuating circumstances. But here ya go! Reviews? I love you. **


	52. The Doctor Is In

Balthazar watched the two quietly, slightly amused by the back-and-forth. He was unsure if his cure would work, especially after witnessing the true and powerful demon for himself. Nonetheless, he would try. He was never really one for helping humans, however this was a special case.

He knew that this whole scenario was his doing. It was Balthazar who'd let Castiel die in battle. If not for that, this demon trapped before him would have been pulled out of hell long ago, only to be killed (along with the rest of humanity) in the battle of the millennium between Michael and Lucifer.

Balthazar did not agree with the plan. He figured that, if their Father treasured the humans so much, why plan for them all to be destroyed in a petty battle between brothers? He feared that it was not truly God's will. He had the opportunity to change that and took it. He'd made the trade of one angel's life for the life of every human, current and future. Of course, the other angels wouldn't see it that way. Rather, they would see it as a treasonous act against heaven. So he faked his own death during that same battle and escaped to Earth.

All had been going well until he decided to tune in to angel radio one day and by chance heard none other than Sam Winchester, praying for his brother to become human again. Balthazar was intrigued by the situation. He watched over the brothers in secret for a few days before realizing just how strong and dangerous a demon had been made due to his trade-off. This was just cleaning up his mess. If it was impossible to bring the demon to redemption, then he would smite him. End of story.

"Might I interject?" He asked of the still arguing brothers.

They responded at the same time:

"What?" From Sam.

"No." From Dean.

He addressed the demon, "you shut up, you have no say in this." He then turned to the hunter, "if you two can be done bickering, I'd like to take a look at his soul."

They again answered in sync:

"His soul?"

"My soul?"

They shared a mutually annoyed glance.

"I did say I _might_ be able to help," Balthazar continued. "That is, if there's some bit of human soul left."

The demon laughed, "You're a little late for that, angel. I don't know what you're gonna find in there, but I'm pretty sure none of it's gonna be human." He seemed disgusted by the notion.

"I said hush," the angel scolded him before raising an eyebrow at Sam, awaiting approval.

"Whatever you gotta do, go ahead."

Balthazar dragged a chair over from the corner of the room. "You might want to sit down," he told the demon, "don't worry, this is only going to hurt a lot."

Dean took the chair and leaned back in it casually. "Hit me with your best shot, doc."

"Believe me," Balthazar said, shedding his leather jacket and rolling up his sleeves, "dirtying my hands with a soul like yours is about the last thing I wanted to do today." He stepped forward and pushed his fingertips into the demon's middle. Dean winced as the angel's hand disappeared into a hole made in his abdomen. Small tendrils of dark blue smoke escaped and swirled around his forearm. Not too long after, Balthazar slowly removed his hand and the smoke disappeared, leaving no sign of the event.

Dean stretched a bit in the chair and chuckled, eyes back to blue, demented smile still in place, "aw come on, I thought you said it was going to hurt. You can do better than that, angel. So what's the diagnosis, huh? Am I secretly a human?" He laughed a bit at that.

Balthazar paid him no attention, turning his back on him to talk to Sam. "Good news and bad news. And good news."

"What's the good news?"

"There is a spark in there. Barely anything and dying out, but it's there. Bad news is that it's not really enough to work with alone. But, good news, I can still do it with just a few more things."

Sam was relieved, "what things?"

"First of all, is that his body?"

"Yeah."

"All of it?"

Sam furrowed his brow, "what do you mean?"

"I mean we need every single bone, and it wouldn't be unlike a demon to hide a few." There was a low chuckle from behind him. The angel turned to see Dean's wide and manic grin and glistening blue eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Do I know how to think ahead, or what?" He replied with amusement, "tell ya the truth, I'm missing a couple pieces."

"You hid your bones?" Sam asked.

He shrugged, "I know hunters. It's all about the bones. I know what you're thinking, you'll never find them all."

"How many are there?"

"Six," he said proudly. "I'll give you a hint, one's in the pit." Another low chuckle, "so what's the plan now, huh?"

Balthazar stepped forward, "there's plenty of other ways. That one was just the least unpleasant. Other options include, but are not limited to, dunking you in holy water or burning you alive in hell fire."

"Hell fire, been there, done that. Quit trying to sound threatening, you're just not good at it. I don't suppose letting me out of here is an option? I just wanna have some fun, is that so bad?" He tilted his head to the side with an innocent smile.

"It is when 'fun' is killing innocent people." Sam retorted.

"Buzzkill," he murmured.

"I'm going to go put together plan B," Balthazar said to Sam, "can you keep an eye on him?"

Sam warily glanced at his brother, watching them intently, and nodded, "yeah, I'll be fine."

"Then I'll be back." He then disappeared with a rustle of invisible wings, leaving the brothers alone.

**A/N: Boom, chapter. Reviews for the quick updates? I love you. **


	53. Dean Winchester Is Dead

"Plan B, great," Dean commented when the angel disappeared, somewhat annoyed. "He's doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"Leave us alone. Force us to talk out our issues. You really think I need to be watched? We're in the middle of the frickin' ocean, I can barely move with all the damn salt everywhere."

"Well you've kind of got a reputation for escaping." Sam said, going to sit in another chair backed up against the wall.

"Heh, I guess." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, lemme ask you something."

"Hm?"

"Why're you so... persistent? Why are you still trying at this? I don't wanna go back anymore, so why do you want it so bad?"

Sam thought for a minute, head down. "Because you would've wanted it. If you were thinking straight, you would see what you're doing and want out."

The demon laughed a bit at that. "You mean _Dean_ would have wanted it, right? Your brother, the human, wouldn't want to be this. You just don't get it, do you? How many times do I have to tell you: I'm not him anymore. I know exactly what I'm doing, I just exercise a little more freedom than most. I know what I told you, and it sure as hell wasn't to 'fix' me. I told you to kill me. If I were you, I would've taken that opportunity. Too late now."

"No. You're messed up and I can see that, but it doesn't mean you can't go back, Dean."

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that." He said angrily, blue eyes glaring at Sam. "And I _told_ you, I don't want to go back." He relaxed back into the chair and let his eyes fade beck to normal, "I'm having too much fun. And it only took nine hundred years in the pit for me to learn how to. I gotta say, this is a hell of a lot better than my life before, Dean's life."

"How's that?"

The demon shook his head with a small pitiful smile. "Wow, you must really be blind. I _never_ had a life of my own. After mom died, it was never about me. But I guess you wouldn't see that, you got to have a life, go to college, have a girlfriend. But for me, it was always tag along on dad's crusade and take care of my baby brother. Now is it really that surprising that the mindless soldier turned into this? I get to do what I want now. I'm not worrying about anybody else. And you know what, it feels good."

Sam tried to speak calmly to try and keep Dean somewhat grounded. "You spent your life saving people. You always liked hunting."

"I never had a choice," he spat back. "If you could choose, honestly, would you pick hunting?"

"I know what's out there and I know that I can save people from–"

Dean cut him off with a sly smile, "from things like me? Reality check, Sammy, you can't save them all."

"Is that how you justify killing people?"

"I don't have to justify it. I'm a demon, I don't feel guilt. I just do it 'cause it's fun," he said with a grin, eyes momentarily flashing blue. "How'd you know what I've been up to, anyway?"

"Well you know I've been looking for you," he responded nonchalantly, "and you haven't exactly been discreet. Yeah, jumping from town to town and changing meat suits was effective, but same MO everywhere. Guy with freaky blue eyes leaves a bar with some girl later to be found cut up in some motel room. It's a pretty sloppy path. Maybe if you didn't want to be found, you shouldn't've flaunted the demon eyes so much. Ask any hunter about a blue-eyed demon and they most likely have a story. You've made yourself pretty famous."

His permanent smug grin grew wide, "well look at you. That's some pretty good hunting there, Sammy." He shrugged, "but I wasn't trying to hide, I got nothin' to hide from."

"You might wanna take a look at where you are one more time." There was a moment of silence as the demon lazily and resentfully looked over the Enochian symbols at his feet. Sam spoke up again, somber, "you might not want help, but you know what? I don't care what you want. Because it's not you I'm fighting for, it's Dean. And you were right, you're about the farthest thing from him."

In all honesty, Sam had been getting more doubtful of his plan the more he found out about Dean. He'd been trying to forgive his actions, play them off, reminding himself that he was, in fact, dealing with a demon. Some casualties had to be expected. However, hearing his attitude towards the senseless murders was more than disturbing. Also, the body count had tipped past ten weeks ago, and Sam surely didn't even find all of them. He was doubting that Dean could be salvaged out of this... monster. Even _if_ Balthazar could make him human again, maybe his sanity was too far gone. And _if_ he was somehow made human, then what would Dean think of everything that this demonic persona had done? Not to mention the fact that Sam had let it happen. Would he even remember it? He knew that his cause was selfish, but he had wanted his brother back since the day the hellhounds came for him. And now this... thing that _he thought_ was his brother, then had _acted_ as his brother, then was _almost_ his brother, and now _was once_ his brother was being dangled in front of him. Sam had sat back and watched as his sanity fell apart and did nothing, and now he feared that he'd never get Dean back.

The demon cocked an eyebrow. "And there it is. Finally. I said this would happen, didn't I? Here we are, just a hunter and a demon. It's kinda liberating, isn't it? Just let go of that crazy idea that a human could survive that long in hell. Two hundred years, maybe. Three would be a stretch. But nine? You can't even imagine my hell. Nine hundred years of nothing but torture and screams and fire and blood, slicing and dicing my way up to the top so that I can finally get out of that hole, if only for a little fresh air. You know, hell isn't easy, even for demons. After being tortured constantly down there for that long, it's only natural to want to inflict some pain of your own. Doesn't matter on who, just passing on the suffering; it's enjoyable at the very least. Plus, being up top, I get to speak English again," he finished with contrasting humor.

"What?" Sam asked with a small laugh at the unexpected subject change.

"Yeah, it's a little, stupid thing, but I really did start to miss it. Downstairs, where I was at least, all Latin all the time. But, on the upside, my Latin's a lot better now." He trailed off thoughtfully.

After another stretch of silence, Dean produced a flask from his jacket. Sam watched as he unscrewed the top and took a drink, closing his eyes and savoring whatever was inside.

"What's that, whiskey? Still got a drinking problem?"

He smiled, "lots of drinking, I don't see it as a problem though. But no, this is a _lot_ better than whiskey." He seemed to realize something, "but you would know that, wouldn't you, Sammy?"

"What is it?" He asked again, now genuinely curious.

"Demon blood. Want some?" He shook the flask in Sam's direction and laughed to himself, "my brother the blood junkie, I almost forgot about all that. But now that I've tried it myself, I really can't blame you. It is good." He took another sip.

"Demon blood?" Sam said incredulously, "you're drinking demon blood? So, what, now you're a cannibal too?"

"No, I haven't eaten any demons," he retorted mockingly, "I think of it kind of more like vampirism. I figure they all hate me enough as is, why not give them some more reasons to? It's funny, actually, when I find a nest of them. They're all terrified." He chuckled and took another small sip. "Mm, but I can see how you'd get addicted. It's chock full of power. Makes you stronger, sharper, faster. How'd you quit it?"

"I killed my source." He said simply.

The demon could feel him becoming more uneasy by the second. It was obvious that Sam was nervous to be left alone with him. Understandable, he supposed. After all the demon's stories and lectures, it was pretty impressive that the hunter maintained a relatively calm facade.

"What's taking Balthazar so long?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Oh, he's been here for the past maybe five minutes." He suddenly raised his voice, "isn't that right, angel? I know you're there, you stink of righteousness. Come on out."

The angel appeared against the wall opposing Sam, behind the demon. "Very perceptive. You two really have some problems to work out, don't you? Especially you," he nodded at the demon. "Now, let's get on to plan B, shall we?"

**A/N: Long(er) chapter, woo! Reviews? Maybe? Love ya. **


	54. The Miracle Fix

"Dare I ask what plan B is?" Dean asked. He downed at least half of the near-full flask in a single gulp and shivered at the sudden rush. Not too long ago, he had conveniently found that the power stolen from other demons' blood could be absorbed and used while inside traps that kept his own away. Dean had planned this out so that he would have enough backup power for a situation not unlike the one he was currently caught in. He hated how difficult it was to move around. Under normal circumstances, the salt water surrounding them wouldn't bother him at all, however, the ridiculous amount of traps and sigils left him more vulnerable. Even so, he was already feeling stronger, he just had to wait for his moment.

Balthazar sauntered over to a table (which had appeared when he did) to the right of the trap, facing the demon. It was covered by a blood-red cloth decorated with a large and intricate symbol, complete with a stone bowl, a knife, a gallon of (presumably) holy water, and a plethora of other bags and vials of miscellaneous items.

Sam stood when the angel appeared, "What took so long?" he asked, ignoring the demon's question. Dean could tell that he was relieved at Balthazar's presence, glad to no longer be alone with what used to be his brother.

"Impatient, aren't we? I told you, I had to gather together plan B. Among other things, I needed a bone of the damned. Easiest way to get that, aside from taking straight from the source, was to go find the bones he said he hid." He picked up a bag from the table and proudly displayed its contents, four of Dean's reported six hidden bones.

The demon leaned forward at the sight, both surprised and annoyed, "How the hell did you get those?" he asked angrily, though relieved that two were still hidden.

"I have my ways. Weren't hidden as well as you thought. It's not important." He turned back to Sam, "anyway, one wasn't quite enough, so I had to take the time to track down more. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get started."

"By all means," Sam said, sitting back down, "anything I can do?"

Balthazar shook his head as he began to empty the bags and vials into the bowl, "just don't let him... do anything," he said, gesturing toward the demon.

Dean laughed a bit, "now what do you think I'm gonna do?" He asked with a small smile, taking another drink.

"Honestly, I don't want to know," he said without looking up, "just don't."

"I've already told Sammy here, I'm not too happy about this. And lately, if I don't want something to happen, it doesn't happen."

"You might have authority in hell, but you need to learn your place," Balthazar snapped, "you are in no position to be telling me what to do, you pompous arse."

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, "hey, I know I can't boss you around, angel." He finished off the last of his blood and grinned as he stashed it away, "even I know that's a bit above my pay grade. I'm just saying, don't get too cocky. You haven't won yet."

The angel paid him no attention, completely focused on his work. Once everything in the bowl had been thoroughly ground and mixed, he dipped a finger in the solution and walked over to the demon. Dean fought against being touched, however his normal supernatural strength was limited, whereas the angel's was completely intact. Therefore, Balthazar quickly won out and secured his arm as the demon spat a few Latin profanities. He started to recite an Enochian spell as he quickly traced the mixture in a symbol on the exposed skin of Dean's forearm. Nothing happened at first, but shortly after being released, his arm began to sizzle and sting wherever the stuff touched him, swelling up then burning back down like acid, engraving the sigil into his skin. It hurt like hell, seared its way up his arm and slowly spread to his whole body.

The demon's breathing was heavy and his eyes were back to blue, wide and manic, glaring at Balthazar. "_Vae_, occisionis propter hoc debeo tibi, angelus," he angrily slurred through the pain, defaulting to Latin.

The angel said nothing as he went back to the table, continuing the spell. He annunciated the Enochian quickly and clearly and Dean was starting to feel the effects. The radiating pain intensified and a sweat broke on his brow. The angel's power kicked in with a blinding white light, projecting his wings on the wall behind him. Finally, his chance.

The demon forced himself to focus and gathered together all of his stolen power. He directed all of it into a shrill, inhuman shriek, head whipping back with the force of it. Thunder could be heard booming outside and the boat was haphazardly tossed around with the suddenly violent waves. The incantation halted as the angel and the hunter exchanged a frightened and surprised glance. The noise cut off and Dean heavily slumped forward in the chair, breathing labored and head limply hanging, both exhausted from the exertion and relieved to be (at least temporarily) freed from the spell.

"Well that can't be good." Balthazar commented.

"What did you do?" Sam asked the demon, stalking towards his chair in the center of the room.

His heavy breathing slowly progressed to low, maniacal laughter. "I warned you," he sing-songed. He lifted his head slightly to peek up at his brother through energetically spiked hair with bright demonic eyes and a large and deranged smile, "I told you, nothing happens I don't want to happen."

"You're still trapped though," Sam said, double checking the sigils, all six of which were still perfectly intact. "What did you do?" He repeated.

He slowly shook his head without looking away from the hunter, eyes fading back to green, "who said _I_ was going to do anything? I've got friends in low places, Sammy. Being scarier than hell has it's advantages." The lights flickered with another crash of thunder. He lifted his head further, peering around with a grin, "here they come."

**A/N: Don't hate me! I love you. Reviews, perhaps?**

**LATIN: **

**vae, occisionis propter hoc debeo tibi, angelus - damn, I ought to slaughter you for this, angel**


	55. Send In The Troops

"They?" Sam asked in somewhat of a panic, "who's they? Demons?"

Dean was still in pretty bad shape, but that only served to make his twisted glee more threatening. "My followers. I have followers, isn't that neat? They think that being on my side makes them safe." His body slightly shook with silent laughter. "Any second now..."

"Got a plan for this?" Sam asked Balthazar.

The angel was just as unprepared as Sam was, "Eh, not exactly. Fight, I guess. I told you not to let him do anything."

"I don't even know _how_ he did anything. What was I supposed to do? I didn't even think that was possible."

Dean laughed, "Well I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?"

Before he could be acknowledged, the lights in the windowless room all went out. There was another boom of thunder and the lights flickered back on in place of lightning to reveal three new demons, two men and a woman, all dressed cleanly and formally.

"About time." Dean greeted them, straightening slightly. "What took so long, Hadrian?"

"Hell of a place to find," the man in the center replied. "You've really got yourself in some shit this time."

"Semper in excremento," he casually said with a grin, "sole profundum qui variat."

While the demons were talking, Sam had taken out his knife. He was starting to advance on the one woman when she quickly turned and slammed him into a wall with a wave of her hand. Balthazar appeared behind her and pressed his palm to her head, emitting a white light and causing her to drop Sam from the wall. The other two quickly worked in tandem; one re-secured Sam to the wall before he could react while the other, whom Dean had referred to as Hadrian, pulled the angel off his companion, effectively securing his hands behind his back.

"Woah there, angel. That's no way to treat your guests," the demon growled.

Meanwhile, Dean stood from his chair and stretched, waiting for the two to be secured. He wasn't overly fond of this option, not wanting to appear weak by calling for help. However, it was his only option and the situation was somewhat desperate, seeing as the spell likely would have been successful had he waited about ten more seconds. "I'd like you to meet my elites: Hadrian, Elise, and Arian. Best of the worst."

"Pleasure," Balthazar said sarcastically, fighting against Hadrian's iron grip with no prevail.

"So someone wanna let me outta here?" Dean asked, gesturing to the multitude of traps. Elise glanced to the other two, preoccupied with keeping the angel and the hunter still. She went around and made short work of each of the six traps. All of his power came back to him in a rush and he was finally free to move, the surrounding salt water losing its potency. "Much better," he said with a sigh. He stepped out of the broken circle, psychically knocking over the table and spilling all of the spell's necessities onto the ground. By now, the effects had almost entirely worn off, though the sigil engraved in his arm still stung and no matter how he tried, he couldn't heal it.

"What do you want to do with them," Arian asked as Dean slowly advanced.

"The angel's all yours, do whatever you want with him. The human though," He turned his blue eyes on his struggling brother, face humorless for the first time, "you can leave him with me."

The three demons grinned at their prize, "whatever you say," Hadrian said.

"Come on, angel," Elise added, "we're going to have so much fun." With that, all four disappeared, again leaving the brothers alone.

"So what now?" Sam asked, his voice a mixture of anger and pain, "you going to kill me? Did you want to finish me off yourself?"

"Haven't decided yet. Maybe." He started to pace back and forth in front of Sam, looking (Sam noted with grim humor) like a regular criminal mastermind. "If I kill you, all my problems are gone. Should be an easy decision, right? But then I think, maybe that's not harsh enough. See, that whole deal with trying to make me human even after I told you I didn't want it, that's something that I think ought to be punished. Torture: eh maybe, but it's kind of been done before, not special enough. And I can see how much this tears you up, knowing that your big bro's gone dark side. I let you go, and you'll be your own torture. 'Cause I know you, Sammy. You're probably blaming yourself for all this, you think that it's your responsibility to take care of me, whether that means 'curing' me or killing me. And you know what that'll lead to? You'll spend the rest of your life hunting a demon that you'll never find. Following in dear old dad's footsteps just like you never wanted to. Of course, you could just let me go, but we both know that that won't be the case. That conscience of yours sure does get in the way, doesn't it? So I'll let you go, but know that I don't care what we once were, you find me again, I'm not holding back. So, door one: you die. Or door two: you walk free. Which'll it be?"

**A/N: You know the drill, reviews please I love you.**

**LATIN:**

**semper in excremento, sole profundum qui variat - always in shit, just the depth that varies**


	56. Surely Heaven Waits For You

Sam was done. He was done with the whole thing. Dean was gone for good. He had to be, because however loose his sanity may become, _Dean_ would never be able to hurt his brother. Family had always been everything to him, and now he was talking about torturing or killing his own brother without so much as batting an eye. "Go ahead," Sam finally managed through clenched teeth. "Kill me." He could hardly contain his anger at this _thing_ that had replaced his brother. "Just get it over with."

The demon cocked an eyebrow, seeming slightly amused, though that permanent smug grin was gone, "seriously? Two options, you pick that one? That either makes you really smart or really _really_ stupid, I'm not sure. You positive? 'Cause door two's wide open."

His hesitation sparked some tiny, impossible hope in Sam. "Ten seconds ago, you had no problem with killing me. What's the matter? Got cold feet? Is Dean still in there somewhere, is that why you can't do it?"

He got unnecessarily angry at this, loosing a small, angry snarl as he slammed Sam back against the wall. His words were all growled out, unimaginable anger in each syllable, "don't you assume anything. How many times have I told you, Dean's gone. Dead, mortui, adios. He's not coming back. He's _never_ coming back."

"Prove it, then," Sam spat back, just as angrily, "kill me. Shouldn't be any problem for you, it's just another human life."

The demon took this as a challenge. He stepped forward to close a hand over Sam's throat, dropping the supernatural hold so that the hunter was hanging solely from his neck. He usually preferred a quicker death if he was to just get rid of someone who got in his way. However, he felt that killing his brother called for something a bit more personal than just a burst of power to stop his heart. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip as he watched Sam turn red and struggle for breath. "Sorry it had to end like this, Sammy," he muttered, "I'll be sure to pay you a visit downstairs." The sentiment was genuine, if Sam went down the same path as him, became a demon, that is, then Dean would definitely take him under his wing. The Winchester brothers working together again, even if it was as demons. This thought egged him on as he further tightened his grip.

Sam was mere seconds from death when the familiar rustling of feathered wings sounded. The demon was pulled back by the forehead and quickly knocked unconscious.

"Ugh, why didn't I just do that in the first place?"

Sam collapsed once the demon's grip was gone, coughing and rubbing the quickly forming bruises on his neck. He blinked through the black splotches clouding his vision to see Dean's limp form. "I-is he dead?" he asked warily before peering up at Balthazar. There were knife holes in his clothing and he was covered with blood, but he must have already repaired his vessel as there were no obvious wounds or source for all the blood.

"Just unconscious."

"What happened to you?"

"This one," he nudged Dean with his foot, "handed me off to his 'elites'. I just singlehandedly fought off three pretty strong demons. Good thing for you too, looks like you were in quite a bit of trouble here."

"Why are you back?" Sam asked, standing up and leaning heavily against the wall, still gingerly rubbing at his neck.

"I'm not too much in the habit of not finishing what I start. I came back to finish that spell once and for all."

"Will it even work? I mean, don't you need something human to work with?"

Balthazar went about righting his makeshift altar, "I believe that there's still a bit in there."

"How do you know?"

"You're still alive. If there weren't, he probably would have killed you quickly. He must have hesitated, at least a little bit. That's enough for me." He finished the altar and quickly repaired the Enochian circle in the center of the room and the trap directly above it. Dean was placed in the chair inside the circle and, though still unconscious, tied to it with ropes that Balthazar produced out of thin air.

Sam stepped off to the side of the room to let him work. The angel positioned himself behind the altar just as he was before being interrupted and resumed where he left off. Sparks showered down from the light fixtures and that bright white light illuminated the room, forming the shadow of two immense wings behind him.

The demon woke up, first groggily, then snapped fully awake when he realized what was going on. He frantically tried to tug his hands free of the ropes. "No..." he murmured, looking down at the circle at his feet and up to the trap overhead. "No!"

Both Enochian sigils, the one engraved into his arm and the one drawn on the ground, began to glow. Harsh beams of the same white light shot out of each line. The demon screamed, though it wasn't the terrifying and unearthly noise from before. Rather, he cried out in pain and anger, head thrashing back and forth as he desperately tried to break free. He stopped when his midnight blue eyes met his brother's. "Quom me occidisti," he said weakly through heaving breaths, "quom me occidisti, frater."

The light became blinding and thick black smoke rushed out of his mouth with a bloodcurdling scream. It finally faded and Dean slumped into the chair, appearing lifeless.

"That's it." Balthazar said.

"Did it work?"

"That, or he's dead."

Sam cautiously stepped forward to check for a pulse, relieved when he felt it. "He's alive."

"Then it worked. Your brother's human again."

**A/N: Woah, finally. And it only took 56 chapters. Reviews? I love to hear what you guys think!**

**LATIN:**

**quom me occidisti, frater - you've killed me, brother**


	57. Someone To Watch Over Me

Balthazar brought them back to the impala (which he'd moved to an empty parking lot at some point). Dean was laid down in the back seat, still unconscious, as the other two talked outside.

Sam forced himself to look away from his brother to talk to the angel, "I really can't thank you enough." Balthazar only nodded. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Maybe," he responded, furrowing his brow.

"Maybe? What do you mean 'maybe'?"

"He _is_ one hundred percent human, don't worry about that. But that won't change the fact that he _was_ in hell for so long. Something like that makes a demon insane, but it could render a human catatonic. Just don't be too surprised if he's not the same when he wakes up."

"What?" Sam asked, slight panic in his voice.

"That is, if he wakes up at all," Balthazar continued, paying him no attention. "On the other hand, he might not even remember anything. It might just get blocked out. Including some things before he went to hell." Seeing Sam's incredulous look, he added, "what? That's the truth, did you want me to sugar coat it for you? Honestly, I'm not sure exactly what will happen, I've never done anything like this before."

"So you don't know for sure that anything bad is going to happen either. He could be fine."

"It's unlikely, but know that anything that happens now is much better than anything that might have happened if he was still a demon. You wanted your brother to be human, and I gave that to you. You're welcome."

Sam nodded with another worried look at Dean, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest. "Thanks."

"I'll be keeping an eye on you, make sure it worked properly. And if you need any help, you know how to reach me." There was a rustling sound and the angel disappeared.

* * *

Sam found a motel and got a room. The place was pretty dark and vacant at the late hour he got there, so no one noticed him carrying in his limp brother. He carefully set him on a bed and just watched him warily, trying to believe that his brother would be alright. The Enochian sigil was still burned into his arm and looked painful, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his breathing was shallow and nearly undetectable, and aside from the very slight breathing, he didn't move in any way. His unconsciousness was somewhat unnerving, more death-like than sleep-like.

He was unspeakably happy and relieved that Dean was actually human again (a fact that he'd only accepted after dousing his hand in holy water), but he knew that they weren't out of the dark yet. Not until Dean woke up and Sam saw that he really was alright. Even then, there still was the matter of everything Dean had done during the last few months, plus whatever had happened in hell to make the demons hate and fear him so much. This posed a few problems.

1: Dean had climbed pretty high in demonic status to a point where every demon knew and despised him but were often too smart to try and take him down. If word got out that Dean was now human, then they would have a swarm of angry and vengeful demons on their hands; no matter how good a hunter Dean was, having that many demons out for his blood just couldn't end well.

2: by the end, Dean had become prettydark, picking up innocent girls then mercilessly slaughtering them, and probably not before taking advantage of them. This sprouted the majority of their problems:

2a: Sam knew for a fact that the police in at least twenty five states and the FBI were looking high and low for him. Dean had taken his first ten to fifteen victims without switching his meat suit at all, then the occasional two or three here and there after that. This being said, Dean was likely high on the list of most wanted criminals, a famous murderer. Plus, he didn't bother to hide from security cameras or be at all discreet about his actions, so the authorities knew what he looked like; probably matched him up with his already extensive record. Sam hadn't turned on the news lately, but knew that Dean's blue steel mug shot was likely plastered all over the media.

2b: Hunters. Dean had managed to flaunt his distinctive blue demonic eyes to as many bartenders and onlookers as possible at the bars where he picked up his victims. That was something people tended to remember when questioned about a young girl's disappearance, and also something that would attract the attention of every hunter in a ten mile radius. Seeing as Dean had preferred to stay in his own body, those hunters would be watching out for him and would likely shoot first and ask questions never.

2c: Sam was having a hard time separating Dean - the real, human Dean lying in front of him - from his cruel, maniac, nightmarish demonic persona who had teased and taunted and threatened and attacked him not an hour earlier. Who had cracked and fluently spewed Latin and screamed in pain as the corruption was cleared out of him. What he did should be unforgivable, but Sam kept telling himself that it wasn't really his brother. It was the dark, evil, corrupted thing that nine hundred years in hell had made him. Even so, Sam was at least a little uneasy being around him knowing that he'd done all that.

3: how would Dean react to knowing everything that he'd done. Killing innocent people was something he would never be able to justify to himself, demon or not. He had a strict rule: they don't kill people. Ever. And then if he knew how close he'd come to killing his own brother... If Dean had been so full of self-loathing before becoming a demon, he would definitely hit rock bottom after. The guilt alone would be crippling.

Then again, Balthazar had mentioned that there was a chance he wouldn't even remember being a demon. Sam may have prayed for this option, but he felt that angels (well, Balthazar at least) had helped as much as possible already. So he could only wait and hope for the best. Of course, Dean wasn't stupid, he'd probably piece it together eventually. But, Sam decided, if he didn't remember on his own what had happened, then he would never know. Sam resolved to protect his brother from the truth as much as possible. It had always been the other way around, Dean protecting Sam, but this was something that needed doing. Sam was happy to nearly have his brother back and nothing would ruin it if he had any say. Also (he noted with amusement), it was not as if Dean had aged at all in hell or as a demon, so technically speaking, Sam was now the older brother. It was his job to take care of Dean.

He thought back to the demon's final words:_ "quom me occidisti, frater", _English, "you've killed me, brother". The immense pain and betrayal he'd conveyed behind these words haunted Sam. He wanted to tell himself that it was just the demon realizing his downfall, but he felt that there was something more there. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but for some reason he felt that (despite the fact that it was said in Latin, the native language of the demon) the sentiment was Dean's. He felt that those last words were some omen to a bleak outcome. Perhaps he was saying that by making Dean human, he was making his death definite. He tried to shake the thought away.

Noticing his nagging hunger, Sam remembered that he hadn't eaten for a few days. He tore his concerned gaze off Dean to leave to get food, but not before blocking off the windows and door with salt, wary of problem #1. He was gone for no more than twenty minutes and brought back a greasy bag with a bacon cheeseburger and fries for Dean when he woke up, figuring that he'd be quite hungry.

Not ten minutes later, Dean finally stirred. First small groggy movements, then he propped himself up on his elbows, taking in his surroundings with confusion. His green eyes finally fell on his brother. "S-Sam?" He sat up further, squinting his eyes shut and rubbing his forehead. "What the hell happened?"

**A/N: Yay! Reviews? Maybe? Ti amo. **


	58. What's Going On Down Under You

Sam's heart leapt when Dean sat up. It hadn't been long, but he was starting to get scared that he wouldn't wake up at all. Balthazar had made him paranoid, worrying about every possible outcome. He avoided his question.

"How you feeling?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. "My head hurts like hell. What happened," he asked again, "where are we?"

Sam again sidestepped the question and moved on to the second order of business: "what do you remember?"

Dean shook his head slowly, thinking for a moment before answering, "um, I remember being some hell hound's chew toy. After that, not a damn thing. What happened? How am I alive right now? Unless this is hell, is this hell?" He looked up at Sam with slightly pathetic confusion.

Sam narrowly avoided letting out a sigh of relief. Dean didn't remember a thing. Sure, he'd probably find out eventually, but at least he wasn't being hit with the truth right away. "Not hell. Texas."

"Right. Then how– no," he cut himself off, realizing something, "you didn't. Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Make a deal, Sam. Please tell me you didn't sell your soul."

"I didn't. Believe me, I tried, but no demon would take it. I tried for years to bring you back, but nothing worked. This wasn't me."

His brow furrowed. "Years? How long was I gone?"

"Seven and a half years, just about."

"Seven years?" He repeated incredulously, hoping he'd heard wrong.

"It's August 6th, 2016."

"Seriously?" Sam nodded. "How am I not just a pile of bones then?"

"I have no idea," Sam lied. "You just kind of showed up then passed out. You don't remember that?"

Dean shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Of course he didn't remember it, it didn't happen. But he didn't need to know that. "Well if it wasn't you, then what the hell was it? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be back. Glad I don't remember seven years of hell. But still, something's screwy here, man. Do you think maybe it was a demon?"

_Yes_, Sam thought, _it was a demon, it was you._ "What makes you think that?"

"Well I stink of sulfur." He sniffed the collar of his shirt, "my clothes are covered in it."

_Great_. "I don't know why a demon would pull you out of the pit. Let's just be happy for it. I mean, you're back. Enjoy it a little. You hungry?" Sam grabbed the greasy bag from the table.

Dean's eyes widened at the smell of food, suddenly realizing just how hungry he really was. "Hell yes," he said with a grin, standing to join his brother at the small table. Sam smiled as Dean gleefully unwrapped the burger and took a bite, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction as he chewed slowly. He was so innocent and unchanged that Sam could almost forget his demon persona.

"So you really don't remember anything?" He verified, still having a hard time making himself believe that they would have such luck.

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. It's weird, like I was never gone. It feels like I just fell asleep and then woke up seven years later. I might think you were just screwing with me, but look at you, Sammy. My baby brother's all grown up." Another appreciative bite of the burger. "You need a haircut," he said with a smirk through the mouthful.

They sat and talked. Dean was curious about everything that had happened while he was gone: any events of national importance he ought to know about, what Sam had been up to, how was Bobby, how were Ellen and Jo. Sam answered everything as truthfully as possible, only omitting the more recent events. The sudden return to normalcy was, though slightly overwhelming, very welcomed. However, Sam knew that it wouldn't last. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Dean would put the pieces together quickly. As stubborn as he'd always been, he would want answers. Truths that Sam wanted to avoid at all costs. Even if he didn't piece it together, he would likely find out one way or another what with his face plastered all over the media and the few demons that would inevitably track him down sooner or later.

But for now, Sam just enjoyed truly having his brother back.

The calm, domestic air, of course, didn't last long. About a half hour in, Dean started absently scratching at his arm where the sigil was burnt into his skin. Apparently, it didn't hurt anymore, but it didn't take long for him to notice it.

"The hell?" He stared and rubbed at the neatly engraved sigil. "Look at this, did you see this?"

Sam hesitated a bit, wondering how he could possibly explain this. "I... thought you noticed it before," he said lamely.

"If I did, I forgot about it. You think maybe it has something to so with how I got out?"

"I-I don't know, maybe," he stammered, wishing that Balthazar could come and explain. But he knew that that would mean telling Dean about being a demon. Seeing as he was still a bit jumpy and disoriented, Sam decided that he wasn't ready for the truth. Not just yet.

"I'll search up on it later. Right now, the stink of sulfur's making me sick. I'm gonna take a shower, clear my head a little. Then we," he said with authority, "are going to go get a drink." He smirked at Sam and slapped a hand on the table before heading to the bathroom.

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once Dean was out of the room. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. He felt horrible keeping things from Dean, especially something so important. He would find out eventually, Sam knew that. But just not now. Dean was content at the very least and that was all that mattered. But in the near hour that he'd been back, there were already two strikes against him with the sulfur and the sigil. Sam had almost stopped noticing the sulfur after spending so much time with the demon. He wondered if Dean had believed him when he said that he didn't know why there was a sigil on his arm or why his clothes smelled like sulfur. Usually, Sam could read his brother just by minute facial expressions, however, he hadn't really seen any for over seven years. He was rusty to say the least.

Just as Sam was thinking this, he heard Dean yell over the sound of the faucet. "Okay, what the hell?!" He sounded annoyed and almost angry. The water turned off and Dean came back out, shirt in hand. "Something weird is definitely going on, Sam." He pointed at the tattoo that had replaced the anti-possession one. "You know what that is?"

_Crap, _he'd forgotten about that. Sam tried his best to look surprised and confused, "a tattoo?"

Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. "'A tattoo'" he mimicked, "it's a binding link. A demonic possession lock. Do you have any idea what's going on here?"

Sam shook his head, managing to look innocent, though he could feel a rising sense of panic. "Not a clue," he lied smoothly.

"Give me some holy water."

"Why?" He asked while handing over the bottle.

"Because if I have this, then that means either there was a demon in me and it got killed or, more disturbing, there still is and I just can't tell." He poured a bit of holy water on the back of his hand and let it sit for a minute. After seeing no reaction, he shook the wetness off. He tossed away his sulfurous shirt and swapped it for a new, clean one.

"Let's go get that drink now."

"Weren't you going to take a shower?"

"Screw hygiene, I need some alcohol."

**A/N: Oh Dean... Reviews? I love you. **


	59. Take It Easy

Dean's mind was foggy to say the least. His head was still dully throbbing and he was pretty disoriented. No matter how he tried, he couldn't remember a thing after being attacked by the hellhound, and even that memory was cloudy. He was alright with not remembering hell, but for some reason he felt like there was more he was missing. There were quite a few things about the situation that bothered him:

First of all, the traces of sulfur on his clothes. Even if it was a demon that pulled him out, he couldn't think of why it would have left any. However, he wasn't really sure how such a thing would happen anyway and couldn't be sure that a demon wouldn't leave traces, so he didn't rule out the possibility, though he still couldn't imagine why a demon would do him a favor.

Second, there was the strange fact that he wasn't in the same clothes he'd died in. Dean wasn't usually one to pay much attention to clothing, but the seven years that had passed were only a split second to him. He did notice that he was suddenly dressed differently. Plus, he could vaguely remember the hellhound's attack and figured that his clothes should have been ripped to shreds from its razor-sharp claws.

Third, and most confusing, was the strange symbol branded on his arm. Aside from its confusing presence, it looked somewhat healed. He knew it hadn't happened before he died, but it couldn't have healed _while_ he was dead.

Lastly, the binding link tattoo in place of his anti-possession one. This was what solidified his theory: he had been possessed. It was the only thing he could think of that could have caused everything. Though he wasn't sure how a demon had gotten past the original ward there, but it was the only explanation.

It did not, however, explain his biggest question: how the hell was he alive? People don't just come back from hell, he knew this. It was impossible. For demons it was another story, but he'd never heard of a human getting out. On top of it all, he felt like Sam was hiding something. Dean knew his brother, his tells. He knew that Sam was playing dumb for some reason, he just didn't know why. That was half the reason he suggested they go get drinks (the other half being that he could use some himself after his strange awakening), when Sam had enough to drink, he was an open book. It may be a bit immoral to get his brother drunk to get some answers, but he definitely wouldn't get anything out of him otherwise, seeing as he was pretty set on playing dumb. Besides, it was Sam's own fault if he drank too much and couldn't handle his liquor.

They found a bar & grill just outside town, pretty generic, tables on one wall and a bar on the other. It was late enough that the place wasn't too crowded, but loud enough that they could talk in relative private. They sat down at the bar and Dean called for a round of whiskey, flashing a grin at the young, blond, and attractive bartender, who just gave him a suspicious once-over before going to get their drinks. Slightly deflated, Dean went back to inconsequential chat with his brother, waiting for the alcohol before he rolled out any important matters. The first round came and went.

"Man, I wanna find out what did this," he said once their second round of drinks was set in front of them. "'Cause this isn't right. People don't just pop out of the pit."

"Yeah, I wanna find it too. And we will. But we don't even know where to start. Besides, you just got back, Dean. Maybe you should take it easy for a bit." Sam took a large drink, downing almost the whole glass. Apparently, he'd become more of a heavy drinker since Dean died.

Dean noted that the bartender perked up at overhearing his name and gave him another suspicious glance, this time slightly afraid, while hurrying out of sight to the back room. He thought it was strange, but gave it little thought, returning to the conversation. "I can't just take it easy. Whatever pulled me out had to be powerful, and it's still out there. Plus, we don't know why it did. Maybe whatever it is is planning something." He took a sip, grimacing a bit at the taste: the same as he remembered, yet unpleasant for some reason.

A strange look, guilt perhaps, flashed across Sam's face. "I don't know. Maybe."

Dean leaned in a bit, "you sure you don't know?" He asked, starting to get annoyed with all the lies.

His brow furrowed, "what do you mean?"

"I mean it seems like you know a little more than you're letting on."

Sam forced out a little laugh, "you think I'm lying to you?"

Dean's face remained serious, "I think you aren't telling me everything."

"Come on, you know just as much as I do," he said somewhat nervously, finishing off his drink and tugging at his jacket like he often did when he lied.

"Really? How did I end up in a motel in Texas, again?" His mind already fogging with the alcohol, Sam took too long to respond. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dean continued without letting him, "and the tattoo, and the sulfur, and this thing," he gestured to his arm where the strange symbol was covered by a sleeve, "you have no idea what any of that's about?" Sam gulped and shook his head. Dean was displeased. "Well it's good to know you have my back, Sammy," he said sarcastically. "Good to know I can trust you." With Sam, if asking nicely didn't work, then guilt usually did.

There was a tense silence before Sam spoke up again, slow and unsure, "okay, yeah. There's some stuff I know that you don't. But believe me, you don't want to know."

Dean perked up at this. "You know how I got out?" Sam nodded almost imperceptibly, looking distant, worried, and somewhat scared. "Well are you gonna tell me?"

He shook his head. "You aren't gonna like it."

"Come on, Sam."

He just shook his head again, closing his eyes and biting his lips shut like a child.

"Gah, you're useless." Dean sighed and leaned his elbows on the bar, finishing off his second glass of whiskey.

A large, bearded man appeared behind the bar in front of them. He cleared his throat to get their attention and both looked up. "Howdy. I'm Jake, owner of this fine establishment," he introduced himself. "I think you two are in a bit of trouble." He lowered his voice, addressing Dean, "we know who you are. Cops are on their way." As if to emphasize his point, sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching the small bar. "Now I suggest you go quietly, 'cause from what I hear, they're allowed to shoot you dead if you try anything."

Dean looked at him incredulously, "what're you talking about? We haven't done anything wrong," he protested, knowing full well that he had done more than a few illegal things in his time. However all of that was at least seven years ago. He realized that when the bartender disappeared, she'd probably gone to call the cops. How did anyone here even know about him, much less recognize him?

"Yeah, that's what all the psychos say." The sirens stopped right outside, "now get, before they have to come in here and make a big scene out of it."

**A/N: And here we go again. Reviews? Jeg elkser dig. **


	60. Another Day, Another Felony

At the police station, the brothers were kept separated. Dean was locked up in a holding cell, hands and feet chained together, annoyingly limiting movement. He didn't know where they were keeping Sam, but he was pretty sure that they wouldn't have let him go due to his own extensive record. He was still very unclear as to why he was locked up so securely. Or why he was locked up at all, for that matter. He suspected that this had something to do with whatever happened that he didn't remember.

He wasn't very sure about his possession theory after talking to Sam (rather, attempting to). In their line of work, demonic possession was really no big deal, an occupational hazard. So it begged the question: why would Sam try to keep that a secret? Sure, it wouldn't be great news, but Dean knew that anything a demon did while in his skin had nothing to do with him. So why try to keep that from him? Perhaps because it wasn't a demon at all. But if not a demon, then what? It was all very confusing.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the cement floor. He looked up to see a tall brunette in a pant-suit, staring at him with disapproval and some vague excitement. "Well, well. Dean Winchester. It is great to finally meet you face to face, even better since you're in chains."

FBI, he assumed due to her naturally authoritative stance, hard features, and professional getup. He stood and stepped right up to the metal bars, "apparently you know me, so who might you be, sweet cheeks?"

Slight fear and disgust flashed across her face before responding, "Special Agent Burke, FBI. For the past couple months, it's been my job to know everything about you. And let me just say, you are _quite_ the puzzle."

"Well that's awful kind of you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Look, I don't know what it is you think I did, but it wasn't me. You've got the wrong guy."

"Trying to play innocent isn't going to help you now. You've been caught red-handed. I have plenty of video evidence and witnesses all leading to you." She started to lazily pace in front o him. "The weird thing is that all your charges before you went missing were for random felonies, spread out murder, burglary, petty crimes. No pattern. I was starting to think maybe contract killer. When you dropped off the map for seven years, the bureau thought they were done with you. But a few months ago, you show up again, step up your game. There was the arson in Colorado, body count came out to over a hundred. After that, you suddenly get the serial killer mindset. A certain victim pool, all taken and killed the same way. Body count: forty three."

"Forty five," he corrected without thinking. It surprised him, he didn't know where the number came from. It just kind of fell out without his permission. The small, unconscious outburst left him confused and slightly afraid. _What's happening to me?_

Burke did not seem to find it strange at all, she just cut off the end of his words to continue, "you jumped up to the top of the most wanted list in just a month. But your record precedes you, you really are one slippery SOB. Even with a record like yours, you've only been locked up once, and for just a few days before you somehow broke out. You've been caught multiple times, but they could never seem to keep you locked up. Kind of makes me wonder why you were so easy to catch this time..." she trailed off, thoughtful. After a second, she shook away the thought and continued, "then I've got a guard from when they caught you in Dayton, Ohio who saw you escape. I asked how you got out and why he let you go. He said he had no idea how you got free, but he swears he tried to stop you, shot you four times. Went to look at the scene and sure enough we found your blood. Our expert says three shots to the chest, one in the arm. Wonder how you're still kicking after that? On top of that, you've been pronounced dead four times. Seems like I'm dealing with the immortal man, doesn't it?"

"Alright, you don't understand, I—"

She cut him off, "honestly, I couldn't care less what your motive might be or what's going on in that screwed up brain of yours. All I care about is finally getting you behind bars. Monsters like you deserve the tiny, dark, special cell they've got set aside in supermax." She pointed at the small window near the ceiling, "hope you enjoyed your last breath of free air, because you're gonna be put away for a long time." She turned to leave. "But I'll give you this," she said over her shoulder on her way out, "you're good at what you do. Too bad what you do's no good."

In all honesty, Dean was scared. The harsh sentence he was sure to receive and the somehow intimidating Agent Burke were of course unsettling, however it was something else that had him truly scared. What the hell had _happened_? He was scared about whatever it was that Sam refused to tell him. According to Burke, he'd been pretty busy over the last few months, even though he'd only woken up a few hours ago. He thought a shapeshifter, maybe. But then how would a that tie in to all the obvious demonic signs? And then there was that little, random outburst. Though small, it scared him. Apparently, this whole thing really did have something to do with him, seeing as he seemed to remember it subconsciously. When – if – he got to talk to Sam again, he would have to somehow get answers. Over a hundred bodies were piled up around him and he wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of it all.

**A/N: Sorry it's a but shorter. But still, I'm sticking to updating every day. Reviews? Love you. **


	61. A Dark Past

The lighting in the small, musty room was poor. This originally served as coincidental (or perhaps not so coincidental, considering this no-tell motel's regular clientele) mood lighting. Now, however, it made the scene dreamlike. Or nightmarish, depending on the viewpoint. The young girl's slightly drunken, whimsical decision to leave the bar with this charming and mysterious man had turned sour as she was preparing to go home.

Suddenly and sharply contrasting the man's gentle composure beforehand, he'd roughly stopped her from walking away. He'd painfully grabbed her shoulder with one hand and pulled her close to him, growling into her ear, "what's the rush, sweetheart? We're just getting to the fun part." She was briefly released from his grip, only to be secured to a chair by nothing more than his will.

Now, he took his time in unsheathing his favorite knife, watching how the dim light danced off it. He'd recently honed it down himself to a clean and deadly edge. Still, he nicked his thumb to test its sharpness, watching as the small bead of red rolled down the length of the blade. He ran his tongue over the cut, the taste of his own blood invigorating. Meanwhile, the girl was putting forth as much effort as she could to move, no prevail. She was not able to scream like she wanted to because he'd invisibly secured her mouth shut, but she was emitting tiny, pathetic, frightened sobs. This pulled his attention away from the flashing metal and he suddenly appeared crouched to her side.

"Hmm you're so pretty when you're terrified." He pushed her black hair behind her ear with the tip of his knife, dark, unearthly blue eyes fixated on her watering brown ones. He released the supernatural hold on her mouth, "go ahead," he whispered with a grin, "scream."

* * *

Dean jerked awake, breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest. The dream had been so terrifyingly real. Dean himself, with a set of blue demonic eyes, obviously about to torture and kill an innocent girl. The worst part about it was that, as the dream played out, Dean felt all of the madness and excitement and sadistic pleasure and, God help him, he enjoyed every second of it. And as if that wasn't enough, he wasn't just looking on like in a normal dream. No, this was more like a memory, each action his own. He couldn't see it, but he knew the exact moment his eyes had changed color, knew that that color would be a deep midnight blue. Unmistakable demon eyes.

However strange, he was glad that the dream ended when it did. He didn't even remember nodding off. When he woke up, his eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings. He was still sitting on the edge of the holding cell's cot, apparently having fallen asleep slumped over, elbows on his knees. He couldn't have been out for long, seeing as the sun still filtered through the small window and he was still in shackles. He shut his eyes and tried to calm himself, taking a few deep breaths. He wanted to talk to Sam, wanted to know what the hell was going on. He wanted nothing more than to be able to open his eyes and be somewhere else, anywhere else.

Then suddenly, he was. When he opened his eyes again, rather than the gloomy holding cell, he was met with the (equally gloomy, yet less oppressive) motel room he'd originally woken up in. He found himself sitting on the edge of a bed in the same position he was sitting on the cot at the police station. The place was just as they'd left it, fast food wrappers on the table and lines of salt at the door and windows. His hands and feet were still shackled, so he couldn't pretend that he'd imagined the whole thing. But then how had he gotten there? Had he blacked out and somehow escaped? It was a possibility, his memory hadn't been exactly reliable lately. If that was the case, how did he manage to get out, who may have gotten hurt in the process, and why was he still in chains?

"What the?" he heard Sam's voice from behind him, "Dean?" Dean turned to see his brother standing next to the other bed, looking at him with confusion and, was that fear? "Did — did you do this?" He tilted his head slightly and eyed him with suspicion.

Dean stood to face him, nearly tripping on the chain between his ankles. "Did _I_ do this? How the hell could _I_ have done this? What's happening here, Sam?"

"I don't know," he answered plainly, though slight relief showed on his face.

"Cut the crap, I know that there's something you're not telling me."

Sam began another lie, "no, I really–"

Dean cut him off, angry and annoyed with all the lies. _"Lustus dico me!"_ He yelled, but recoiled when the words came out. He had meant to say it in English, he had no idea why it came out in Latin. It was similar to his correcting Agent Burke on the body count, as if it wasn't really him saying it. Sam was just as surprised, stepping back slightly, fear in his eyes. Dean sunk back down to the bed, rubbing his forehead with exasperation. "Dammit, Sam, I'm losing it here. I don't know what's happening to me. So if you know anything, can you _please_ just tell me? Before it gets me killed."

**A/N: Howdy, readers. So sorry this took a bit longer. I seem to have this problem where I don't plan ahead well, so I kind of had to figure out how to get them out of jail. Sorry about that. But, it's rolling now. Reviews? I love you all.**

**LATIN:**

**lustus dico me - just tell me**


	62. The Story Of Dean Winchester

Honestly, Sam was afraid to tell Dean the truth. A parade of 'what ifs' ran through his head. What if it proved to be too much for him? What if all of his memories from that time came back to him? What if that caused some mental breakdown? What if he just lost it again? Dean's sudden Latin scared him, made him worry that maybe more of the demon was left than he thought. He worried that it may come back to the surface if he stirred those memories.

Past all this, however, it was Dean's right to know. He made a good point, at this pace, not knowing the truth _could_ somehow get him killed. This again brought his thoughts back to the demon's last words. What if Sam wasn't able to keep him alive after all? He could tell that Dean was scared too, helplessly confused. And this was before he knew what was actually going on. Not knowing may be the better option in some aspects, spared from the guilt and hatred at what he'd become. However, he needed to hear it. It was time for the truth to come out.

"You're not going to like it," Sam warned one last time, but he knew his brother too well to think that he'd back out and decide he didn't want to know.

"You've said. Look, I don't have to like it. I just want to know. How did I get out and what am I not remembering? People have died, Sam. And it all seems to be leading to me."

Sam sighed and sat on the other bed facing Dean, trying to figure out how to explain. The beginning seemed like a good place to start. "So, I'm sure you figured out by now that you actually got back a few months ago. As to how..." He paused, unsure.

"Spit it out."

"You were a demon." He rushed through the words, not wanting to drag it out any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Heh, no, seriously," he tried to brush it off with humor, but Sam could hear the apprehension in his voice.

Sam said nothing, just staring at him gravely.

"You're serious?"

Sam nodded.

Dean ran a hand down his face (chain dragging the other along with the action), seemingly trying to process the information. "I wasn't just possessed? I was actually..." he trailed off, not quite able to say it aloud.

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"How else would you have gotten out?" Sam asked rhetorically.

Dean shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, taking a few calming breaths before continuing. "So all that stuff the fed chick was talking about, that really was me? The fires and the serial murders," he was looking increasingly disgusted, "over a hundred people dead. That was all me?"

"Not the people in the fires. They were already dead. Other demons on a killing spree."

"Yeah, that makes it a lot better," he said sarcastically, "so I was only responsible for those forty five innocent girls."

"Forty five?" Sam repeated, surprised. He'd only found thirty two.

Dean nodded slightly, sorting everything in his head, "I don't know why I remember, but I do."

"You're remembering things?"

"Just the body count. And I think I had a dream about it."

This concerned Sam, if he was remembering, what was next? He _had_ transported the two of them back to the motel. Even though Dean had no idea how it happened, Sam had recognized the demon travel. If he could do that, what else might be threatening to break out?

Dean was silent for a moment, still trying to believe it. After a while, he looked up at Sam, "so what happened, really? What did you do? I don't even know what I am right now. Because I can't be a demon, the salt and holy water did nothing. But how could I be human? That's impossible, right?"

"I, uh, I got an angel to help. Balthazar. He said he could turn you back."

"An angel? Really? Like, an actual angel?"

"That thing on your arm, that was part of the ritual. It's Enochian, angel language."

"Why would an angel help a demon? Wouldn't you think they'd be natural enemies or something?"

"I don't know, but he did. And it worked."

Dean seemed to realize something, confusion on his face deepening. "For that matter why would a _hunter _help a demon? Why didn't you just kill me?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked again, "if I really was a– a demon," he stumbled on the word a bit, "then why the hell am I alive right now?"

"I told you: I got help, I fixed it."

"But why? A demon comes at you, you kill it. End of story. Why didn't you?"

"Because it was still you. Because I went seven years thinking you're dead, then you just showed up. You weren't bad at first. Everything just went back to normal. You were just... _you. _Just with black eyes sometimes and some demon powers."

"And that didn't tip you off? You never thought 'hey, maybe this is a bad idea'?"

"I wasn't sure at first, but I knew that it actually was you and not just some random demon. We hunted for a while. But then some other demons popped up with a plan to wipe out humanity. You disappeared to stop them on your own. Came back with blue demon eyes."

"Blue?"

"Yeah. You told me you absorbed one demon's power or something. Said you were a top demon now. I think that's where it started going downhill. I didn't even notice how bad it was until some hunters found us."

Dean was listening intently as some memories came back to him. Few and cloudy and disjointed, but memories, nonetheless. That was the main reason he believed anything Sam was saying. "Hunters were after us? And you still thought it was fine?"

"I didn't know until the found us. Well, me. They caught me, used me as live bait. I guess you showed up. I'm not really sure what happened, I was out cold for most if it. You just told me that you killed them all... and enjoyed it." His voice got quiet, "that was when you really started sounding like one of them. Took you to Bobby's and we locked you up in the panic room. That was when I started looking for a cure. That other demon from the down-with-humans plan found me. I still don't know how you got out of the panic room, but I'd definitely be dead if you didn't show up. Then you just told me that you weren't... you anymore and just disappeared. That was a little more than a month ago. I guess that's when all the really bad stuff started. The serial killer stuff."

"And you tried to stop it, right?"

"Of course I did. By that point, I was pretty sure you were gone. And by that point, you were pretty much too strong to stop. Then the angel and the cure and everything and now here we are. That's the truth. All of it."

**A/N: Finally! Took him long enough. Reviews, s'il vous plait? Je vous aime. **


	63. The Truth, But Can You Handle It?

"Dean?" Sam asked, worried when a few minutes passed without an answer.

Dean just held up a hand to signal him to wait, not quite able to find words. He just needed time to process everything that Sam had told him. He didn't even know what to think. It was so much to take in at once and he was still caught on the initial fact: he was a demon. It was hard to believe. He didn't want to believe it. But it made sense if he just looked at the facts: he was covered in sulfur when he woke up because demons produce sulfur; he had a binding link tattoo rather than an anti-possession one because as a hunter he would of course anticipate and take precautions against exorcisms; he had an Enochian sigil on his arm because an angel had made him human again. He didn't want it to be true, but it just had to be. It made too much sense. Plus, why would Sam make something like this up? It made sense now why he tried to hide it in the first place, it really was an ugly truth.

And now the police were after him because he was a damned _serial killer._ He concluded that his dream actually was a memory. He tried to make real the fact that not only did he actually torture and kill that girl in his dream, but he'd also done the same to forty four others. He was a monster. That was all that could really be taken away from the situation. He never thought that he would have the capacity to do something so horrible, but apparently, he already had done it and he didn't even remember. He wondered what could have happened in hell to turn him into something so horrible in only seven years. Unless...

"How long was I actually down there? Because that demon bitch Ruby told me this would happen. I was afraid of it for a while before I actually bit it. But she said it would take centuries."

"Nine hundred years," Sam responded hesitantly.

Dean's eyes widened. He said nothing for a second, hoping he'd heard wrong. "Sorry, it sounded like you said—"

"Nine hundred years. That's what you told me at least."

"Wow." It made sense. Surely nine hundred years of hell would be enough to break someone. Now he was _really_ glad that he didn't remember any of it. After nine hundred years of who-knows-what, it wasn't too far fetched to think his sanity would have snapped. That's all demons are, after all. Just the insane, corrupted, evil, animalistic remnants of humans. No matter how strong-willed that human was in life. Really, it was amazing that Sam had found a way to put him together again.

His memories, both of the nine hundred years in the pit and his couple months up top, were still locked away for the most part. He did remember a small amount from things Sam had reminded him of, but mostly disjointed numbers and names and places, not so much events. Part of him wanted to know, wanted to remember what he'd done. Just to be well informed. Then again, another part wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to believe that it wasn't him who'd done all that. It was easier to just think of his demon self as a separate entity. However, he knew that that wasn't true.

His short dream/memory made this clear. Every thought and action and feeling there was his own. Dean couldn't deny that, though he was guilt-ridden and disgusted by it when he woke up, he was having the time of his life as it was going on. He enjoyed every second, drinking in his victim's terror. His demon self, he supposed, was a lot more perceptive than the average human. He remembered sensing her fear in every way: seeing her eyes glistening with it, smelling and tasting its bitter-sweetness in the air, and feeling it with some unfamiliar sense. And he loved it. Now, it disgusted him that he would find pleasure in another human's suffering. He just couldn't believe that he'd become such a monster.

"Why, Sammy?" he said finally, voice quiet and weary.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you let it happen?"

"I tried, Dean. I tried everything to get you out, there was nothing I could do."

"That's not what I mean, I went to hell, I know you couldn't have done anything to stop that. But, fact is, I came back as a demon. If you had just done your job and killed me the second you found out, we wouldn't have any problems."

Sam looked a little shocked, "I wasn't going to kill you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my brother."

"I was a monster. That's what we do, we kill monsters. You should have." Dean buried his face into his palms, not quite able to look Sam in the eye.

"Are you saying you'd rather be dead?"

He shook his head slowly without looking up. "Right now, I really don't know. It's just... a lot to take in. I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter how much good you do, huh? Doesn't change the fact that I killed people. Lots, probably more than you know or I can remember. It's a hard thing to have to live with. And just to top it off, I'm wanted for it, I can't go anywhere without being recognized. What're we going to do about that?"

"We'll figure it out." There was a small pause as he waited for Dean to react further. When he didn't, Sam spoke up again. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he said shortly, obviously not fine and obviously not in the mood to talk. Sam just left him alone to work through his thoughts.

**A/N: Hello again. So sorry for the delay. Reviews? Maybe? I love you all for appreciating my story so much. You're the main reason this is so fun to write. :)**


	64. When I Find Myself In Times Of Trouble

**A/N: Late late late. I've been sick and not quite feeling up to writing. Sorry about that. Anyway: chapter, enjoy. **

The brothers skipped town as soon as possible, headed to Arkansas, one of the few states Dean wasn't especially wanted in. The FBI would still be on their tail and he was still a nationally known criminal, but at least the state police weren't making any special effort.

Dean didn't say much after learning the truth, just short and uninterested responses when spoken to. He didn't do much either. Once they'd settled into a motel, he just sat at the table silently, obsessing over his guns. He would take apart his pistol, clean it, put it back together, load the magazine, snap it into place, and just stare at it for a while, seemingly trying to figure out what to do with it. He would then repeatedly cock the gun until each bullet jumped out and plinked onto the table, just to start the whole process again.

After a few hours of this, Sam finally decided to speak up. "So you ever gonna talk to me again?" he asked, sitting down across from Dean as he loaded the magazine for the seventh or eighth time.

Dean responded without looking up, his voice monotone, "it's not you I'm angry with." He snapped the cartridge into the gun and weighed it in his hand, "I've been thinking about what you said. Everything that I did. And the more I think about it, the more I feel like just putting one of these bullets in my brain. I could do it. Maybe I should. But what would happen then? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be headed upstairs for suicide, and we've already seen how the other way turns out: not good. Plus, I don't wanna throw away all that trouble you went to to get me back in one piece." He again made the bullets pop out one by one then set the unloaded gun on the table, still staring at it intently. There was another moment of silence, Dean sorting his thoughts, Sam unsure what he could possibly say in this situation, hurt to see his brother so broken and conflicted.

Dean finally looked up, "I've been remembering a little more. Like you said, it's not all bad. There is some normal stuff, just hunting. But then when it's bad, it's... _really_ bad. I would've wanted to kill me. Like, I remember those hunters. What I did to them." He shook his head and looked back down at the table, guilt and disgust obvious on his face, "I killed them and I enjoyed it. I watched the light go out in their eyes and I laughed. How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

"You can't blame yourself. You were a demon. That's just what they do."

His head snapped back up, obviously hurt and angry, though Sam could tell it wasn't directed at him. "What, that's supposed to make it better? You think that's gonna make me feel any less like a piece of crap? Demons are insane, well no shit. _I_ was a demon, _I_ was insane, and _I_ killed those people. Hunters just trying to do their job. That could've happened with any demon to me, or you, or Bobby. They're dead now and that's on me. And I didn't even think twice about doing it."

"Dean—"

"Look, it's not something I'm just gonna get over and forget about. I'm gonna feel like crap for a long time, and nothing anyone says is going to help that. So just do me a favor, don't do the pity thing. Don't try to make me feel better. I don't need any of that. I just need some time, okay?"

"Alright. We'll get through this. You'll be fine, you always are."

"Tell you the truth, I don't think I will be. But yeah, I'll live. This life, that's really the best you can hope for, isn't it?"

Sam knew that anything he said would just upset him more, so he just nodded and left Dean to start work on the salt gun. He wasn't really sure what to do. They couldn't take any jobs because Dean couldn't really go out in public. It was essentially lockdown until they found some way to at least throw the cops off. So he just let Dean boil down and tried to think of solutions.

It was Dean who actually came up with something first. "Break my nose," he said simply when Sam presented the issue.

"What?"

"Well we wanna pass under the radar, right? It'll be easier if I look a little different. Plus, I don't have scars or anything from when they said I got shot and a different tattoo. It'll be easier to convince them that I'm just some guy who looks like their perp." Sam looked unsure. Dean stood to face him, "we gotta do something, can't just rot in here forever, I'm gonna lose it. Come on, you know you kinda want to."

"You sure?" Dean just turned his head slightly and tapped the side of his nose. "This isn't some stupid self-punishment thing?" Dean just gave him an impatient look. "Alright." Sam rolled up his sleeve slightly, made a fist, and slammed it into his brother's face. Dean stumbled back a bit, instinctively covering the injured area with his hand. "Dean?" Sam asked, suddenly worried.

He groaned a bit. "'M fine. Some right hook you got there." He straightened and pulled his hand away from his face. "Good enough?"

"I'd say."

Dean walked, somewhat unevenly, to the bathroom mirror to examine the damage. His nose was definitely broken, tilted to the right and swelling up quickly, a small cut over the bridge. It looked worse than it felt, though it hurt quite a bit. He got a couple ice cubes from the freezer and held them to his crooked nose, going back to his chair. "Alright. That'll heal, we can be back on the job in no time. Cops catch us again, we can just bs our way through it. No problem."

Dean hoped it would help. He was pretty experienced with lying to the police, so he might just slip by. At the very least, fewer people might recognize him and call the cops. He mused that a haircut might help too, but decided to take just one step at a time.

As for the whole demon deal, he would just have to live with it. He hated himself for it and was disgusted the very idea. There wasn't a single thing that he despised more than demons, and now he had to come to terms with the fact that he'd been one. He'd never forgive it, but he'd live. If for nothing else but to try to morally redeem himself. Get back on the job and back to saving people as soon as possible. That was all he had to hold on to.

**A/N2: Reviews? I love you for sticking with my slow updates. **


	65. Windows To The Soul

Dean appeared inside the old building, concealed in the shadowed corners of the room. It had taken all day to track down this nest of demons and he was just about ready to take them out. He didn't quite know what they were up to or why, nor did he particularly care. He just loved the thrill of the hunt. He mentally assessed the group, judging the strength of each and sorting the upcoming battle in his head.

He would naturally make a dramatic entrance: he always enjoyed the shock and fear he felt radiating from the demons when they realized just who had crashed their party. Then, taking advantage of their surprise, he would take out the first two pawns. Likely, the three others (stronger, but still no match for him) would then try to attack him, though he wouldn't give them the chance. Two he planned to kill outright. The other, the strongest of the group, he would secure and save as a treat.

Dean was then in action. He knocked out the lights and summoned a good crack of lightning from the clear sky to announce his presence. This had sort of become his signature. He liked it, lightning was unpredictable, destructive, and if you thought about it enough, downright frightening. Appropriate. He found the first demon in the dark solely by tracking the smell of its fear. He quickly slashed its throat with the knife he'd hijacked from Hell's torture division, the flash of orange light as it died momentarily providing visibility enough to pinpoint his second target. The other pawn was killed with just a small mental attack as the lights flickered back on.

Contrary to the plan, however, he had difficulty placing the other three. They seemed to already have a plan of their own. He could feel all three flashing around the large room, never staying in the same place long enough for him to find and attack them. He was starting to get annoyed.

"A little childish, don't you think?" He said into the air.

One, the strongest of the group, appeared directly in front of him. "It's necessary," he said, disappearing again when Dean swiped the knife at him. "We've heard about what you're doing, thought you'd show up eventually," his voice came again from behind, "we want to make a deal."

"Unless you got a soul to sell, I'm not interested," he responded irritably.

"I think you're going to like our offer though," the demon said, voice again moving to Dean's right.

"Well if you wanna talk, grow a pair and talk to me face to face." He directed his power towards the voice and immobilized the demon, turning to face him. The reaction Dean felt from him was strange: though still scared, there was less fear than expected, mixed with small amounts of nervousness and... hope, perhaps; underneath it all, a strong sense of respect. Intriguing, if nothing else.

"You're trying to be one of Hell's top demons, right?" he continued calmly, as if he wasn't being held literally a thought away from death, not even trying to fight back.

"I _am_ one of Hell's top demons." It infuriated Dean how casual this demon acted towards his superior.

"You're not though."

"Don't test me." He put up a hand to stop the other two advancing behind him, keeping his narrowed blue eyes on the demon in front of him. "This isn't the best way to pitch a deal. Cut to the chase."

"Well you have to know that you're only as strong as the number of demons you command. Just look at your competition. Lilith had eighty legions. Crowley has over a hundred. How about you, hm? Lone wolf's got no one to turn to."

In spite of himself, Dean was interested. "Alright, you got my attention. What's your offer?"

"Allegiance."

"In exchange for...?"

"For nothing. You might not have numbers, but you're a regular prodigy. You're one scary son of a bitch all on your own, I really mean that, but hey, it can never hurt to have some backup. And you know what they say: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I'm Hadrian, that's Arian and Elise. Consider us your legion."

* * *

Dean woke up quickly, no space between dead asleep and completely awake. He peeked over at the clock on the table. 2:24 am. He huffed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get any more sleep for fear of more memories; they seemed to be most vivid in the form of dreams. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose, just letting himself breathe and process the new information.

Compared to the first, it wasn't too bad. Hunting demons was something he would happily do now, though probably for different reasons than his demonic self. By the end, however, it got worse. All of that talk about power and legions and everything, plus all of the abilities he'd used in the short scene, was disturbing. Adding to the new and heightened senses he already knew about, apparently he had also been able to control weather, mess with electricity, disappear in one place and reappear in another, take away someone's ability to move or speak, and kill a demon with just a thought. Of course, he already knew that some demons could do all that, but usually just the real powerful ones. Apparently, he'd been a much stronger monster than he thought and consequently had some sort of authority amongst the demons.

He couldn't keep going on like this. He would drive himself crazy just wallowing in memories. He needed to be active, doing anything other than being locked down in a dumpy motel room left to his thoughts. His mind at the moment was a dark place he'd rather not venture into. He wanted to get back to work. The idea of killing more evil things now than innocent people as a demon served as a sort of lifeline. At the very least, there was one less monster in the world now that he was human.

He decided it was time for more drastic measures. He had wanted to postpone this as long as possible, but his best bet to slip under the radar at the moment was to change his appearance as much as possible. He had to cut his hair. It really was sad. If he had to pick, he would say that it was his favorite feature. However, now wasn't the time to get sentimental; he couldn't get caught up on his hair when he had his neck to worry about.

Looking in the bathroom mirror brought about a couple things. First, Dean noticed that his broken nose was completely healed. Still tilted to the side and crushed in a bit, but the swelling had gone down and the bruising and small cut had disappeared. Second, as Dean was puzzling over the miraculous recovery, a memory hit him. An image not unlike the present, but his face was streaked with mud, his hair tousled and caked with dirt, and rather than his nose, he was gaping at his own dark blue demon eyes. Disturbed by the thought, he shook it away, only to have it quickly replaced with an even more disturbing image. Dean again staring into a mirror in another motel, still with the unnatural blue eyes, but this time, he was soaked and smeared and splattered with blood and looking horrifyingly gleeful.

Dean looked away from the mirror before any other memories could surface. He just peeked back as needed while working on his hair.

**A/N: I suck. Ten days is too long. I have no excuse. Thanks for sticking with it though. I love you all!**


	66. Down To Business

Sam was woken up by the sound of Dean bouncing a ball off the wall repeatedly. Where he got the ball, Sam wasn't sure, but the insistent noise was enough to rouse him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and checking the clock. 5:15 am. Great.

Dean caught the ball and turned to his brother when he heard movement, "oh, good, you're up."

"Ugh, why are _you_ up so early? Did you get any sleep?" He looked up to find Dean sitting in the same place he had been when Sam turned in at about 11. He might have said that Dean hadn't moved at all if it weren't for the sudden change: "and what happened to your—"

"Precaution." He tossed the ball at Sam, who caught it inches away from his face and set it on the table. "Get dressed, sunshine, I found us a job."

Sam still couldn't help laughing at his hair (or complete lack thereof), "you look ridiculous."

"Shut up."

"So you're feeling better then?" Sam asked as he got ready.

"In what respect?"

"Um, all, I guess."

"Physically, perfect. Nose is totally healed, don't really know how, but it is. Mentally, I'll live. Just wanna get back to work."

"Well that's good, I guess." Sam was worried about the quick recovery, yet another demon power resurfacing. But it wasn't anything too serious, and on the plus side, Dean seemed a lot better than the day before, actually moving and talking. He didn't want to spoil it. "You said you found a job?"

"Yeah, Lockwood, Missouri. Looks like vamps, they've got three vics totally drained."

Sam just nodded, thinking for a second before responding. "You sure you're up to it?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. I have to deal, this is my way of dealing. Ready?"

"Let's go."

* * *

It would be about a five hour trip to Lockwood. At first, Dean insisted on driving. Sam didn't protest, seeing as a) Dean was about twice as awake, and b) he saw this as a sort of recovery; returning to normalcy would be good for both of them. However, he insisted they switch places after Dean had to pull over three times in the space of two hours. He would pull off to the side of the road, head down, breathing heavy, and eyes squinted shut, and then get back on the road after recovering. Dean wouldn't give an explanation for it, but he was very quiet and still for a while after each stop. He violently refused to let Sam take over the first two times, insisting that he was fine, stop worrying. After the third time, however, (though, naturally, he never would admit the weakness) he seemed to realize that they would get nowhere at that pace and finally gave in.

The cause, Sam assumed, was more memories resurfacing. They seemed to be coming more and more frequently and it was worrisome. He couldn't begin to imagine how hard it must be for Dean to learn about everything that happened. He wondered if Dean was starting to remember Hell, thinking of what Balthazar had said: 'Something like that makes a demon insane, but it could render a human catatonic.' Sam was afraid that it was only a matter of time before Dean was unable to function. He seemed to be taking it exceptionally well so far, considering. But then again, Dean had always been good at hiding things.

"You're sure you're alright?" Sam asked, breaking the silence that ensued when he took the wheel.

"Fine," Dean responded shortly, not looking away from the window. His behavior had changed drastically since they left that morning, going from energetic and almost content to quiet and detached in no time flat.

There was another short silence as Sam chose his words.

"So you remember some more?"

"Yeah."

"Did you... wanna talk about it?"

Dean turned to address him, "look Sam, I'm not doing the whole captive-intervention-let's-all-talk-about-our-feel ings thing right now. I told you, I don't want any pity. What happened happened, I just have to deal with it. So just... let me deal with it, okay?"

Both were quiet until Sam stopped for gas. Dean mumbled something about ridiculous gas prices when asked if he wanted anything from the convenience store, then yelled out the window for a coffee as Sam walked inside.

After being left alone for a few minutes, Dean seemed marginally better. Once he downed the much-needed caffeine, he finally spoke up again, hesitantly. "You know, I - I'm starting to remember Hell. Just some bits and pieces, but still."

Sam perked up at this, glad that he was finally willing to talk. He wanted to help in any way possible, if only as someone to vent to. "Yeah?"

Dean's voice remained quiet and he was back to staring out the window. "Everything that happened up here, that was nothing compared to what I did down there."

"You know that you can't blame yourself for any of that. You were—"

"No," Dean cut him off, "that's what makes it so bad. I kind of have a rough timeline. I wasn't a - a demon until maybe seven or eight hundred years in the pit. But you know when I started torturing people? Forty years in. Forty years? That was all it took? How can I say that I'm not a monster now if so much happened _before_ I actually was?"

Sam wasn't sure what to say. "It couldn't have been that bad" was what came out, and he instantly regretted it.

Dean forced out a little, almost hysterical laugh. "Not that bad? It was _Hell_! Have you ever coated a living person in molten metal? Or watched someone's brains boil in acid? Or cut out a shoulder blade and used it as a knife? Because I have."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to—"

Dean was starting to get really worked up, nearly yelling now, "what, does it bother you? Sure as hell bothers me—"

"Dean, stop—"

"Me loqui voluistis!" he angrily shouted as a response, immediately following with "_**damn it!**_**"** about twice as loud and angry in reaction to the involuntary Latin, slamming a fist hard against the door. He lowered his head to his hands, hiding his face and trying to calm his ragged breathing. If Sam didn't know any better, he might have thought that he was crying. There was a long silence, both just waiting for Dean to calm down. "I'm going crazy, aren't I?" he finally said under his breath without looking up, "am I just gonna lose it or end up some drooling mess? I mean, I only remember a little bit. I don't know if I can take nine hundred years of Hell."

"It'll all be fine. We'll get back on the job, get your mind off of it. You'll be alright." Sam responded to reassure Dean and himself equally. Honestly, things weren't looking good. Sam knew that, with their luck, it was unlikely to end well either. He would have to talk to Balthazar again soon, just to be absolutely certain he'd actually gotten rid of all of the demon.

"'M sorry," Dean mumbled after a while, barely audible. The apology could have been for any number of things, but Sam accepted it anyway with a slight nod that Dean probably didn't even see or care about. The ride after that was in silence, each left to their own worries and internal struggles.

**A/N: I know that I promised this earlier, but I forgot this hard it is to write an actual case. It's sure to flow for a while from here though. Reviews? Ti amo.**

**LATIN:**

**me loqui voluistis - you wanted me to talk**


	67. Business as usual

By the time they got to Lockwood, Dean was again eager to start the case, maybe even more so than before they left. The ups and downs of his mood and behavior were starting to get somewhat dizzying for Sam. He decided that after the incident in the car, he should do his best to avoid anything relating to Dean's time as a demon. He wanted to maintain the stable and content state for as long as possible. At least while Dean was still trying to work things out, there was no use in pushing him to share.

"Motel, suits, police, info, morgue, victims, witnesses, families and friends, crime scenes," Dean quickly ticked off a to-do list as soon as they were in town, obviously very happy to have something to do.

"I know the drill, calm down. Lunch first."

"Good call."

Once they found a diner and ordered, Sam immediately started on the case. "So what info do we have?"

"Not too much. It's weird though. I mean, vics are sucked dry, so you'd think vamps, right? But the first one was a few weeks ago and there's only been two others since."

"If a nest of vamps was in town, there'd be a lot more people gone missing."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Plus, don't they usually go for bigger cities? More food, less chance of being caught?"

Their food was put in front of them, the waitress glancing at Dean nervously a few times. She took a few steps towards the kitchen before quickly moving back in front of the table. She stared at Dean a few seconds before speaking hesitantly. "Are you – you're not, um –"

"What, that crazy Winchester guy all over the news?" Dean interrupted, "No way. Don't worry, I get that a lot." He flashed her a little smile. She nodded and apologized then scurried away, looking embarrassed.

Dean turned back and started on his food. "This America's most wanted crap is really gonna come down hard, isn't it?"

"Well, as long as there's no police, it won't be a problem. So if it's not vamps, then what?"

"That's what we wanna find out."

* * *

They got to the morgue at around noon after talking to the police (who simply directed them there). They flashed their badges to the ME and requested to see the first victim.

"Peter Stockwell," the ME introduced as she rolled out the stretcher, unfolding the sheet to reveal a forty-some year old man, heavy-set and pale as a bed sheet. She read off the details from a clipboard, "found dead fifteen days ago, at home, in his bed."

"Anything unusual?" Sam asked, moving in for a better look.

"You mean other than the fact that he's drained dry? Never seen anything like it, not a drop of blood left." She moved to the other end of the stretcher, "but there is a wound on the ankle, you might want to take a look." The feet were uncovered and the ME twisted the right one to reveal said wound. On the inside of the man's ankle was the only patch of color on the man's body: a perfectly circular burn, vibrant red in contrast. Upon further inspection, Dean found several tiny puncture wounds in the area.

"Definitely weird," he commented, motioning for Sam to look.

"That is strange," he agreed. "What about the others?"

"Well the second was exactly the same, completely dry, same mark on the arm, found in her bed."

"And the last one?"

She nodded and responded by pulling out another stiff.

"This one different?" Dean asked.

"Same kind of thing, different cause of death." She folded back the sheet to show a boy no older than thirteen. He had the same circular burn mark on his shoulder. "For the other two, cause of death was blood loss, but this poor soul was apparently bludgeoned to death first. Just like the others, he was drained when we got to him, so no bruising to go off of. Quite a few broken bones, damaged organs. Also different, he was found in the park just down the road, probably on his way home. Ultimate cause of death was likely this," she carefully turned the head to display his caved-in skull, "due to a blow to the head. We can't tell much past that because of the lack of blood."

The brothers exchanged a look. Sam thanked the ME for her help and they were on their way.

"Not vamps," Sam commented as they got back in the car.

"Definitely not vamps," Dean agreed, "and the kid, beat to death? How does that fit?"

"I don't know. What else sucks blood?"

"Um, changelings, djinn, vetala... That's all I can think of. None of them really fit the bill though."

"Something new then."

"Great. Time to hit the books."

** A/N: Sorry it's shorter. Like I said, cases are hard. Reviews? I love you. **


	68. Draw Back The Curtains

The first place the brothers went after the morgue was to the home of the most recent victim, Kyle Wagner, to interview the family. They decided that they would likely get the best results from them seeing as the boy was the odd victim out: found in the park, beaten before being drained, and youngest by quite a bit.

"They probably aren't going to want to talk," Sam commented as they walked up to the house, "they did just lose a kid."

"They'll talk," Dean responded, unworried.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Come on Sam," Dean shot him a little smirk (such that it made Sam half expect to see blue demon eyes) and pulled his badge out of his jacket, "innocent people always talk to cops."

Dean's lack of empathy in the situation was somewhat unnerving. He'd never really been the touchy-feely type, but there used to be some kind of compassion. Sam shouldn't have been so surprised that Dean was somewhat detached after what had happened. He should just be glad that it wasn't worse. Still, he was just kind of expecting – hoping – that when Dean became human again, he'd be the same Dean who'd left him all those years ago. He knew he shouldn't have such lofty hopes, Dean had been through a lot. But still, it made him worry.

Sam made introductions and asked a shaky Mrs. Wagner if they could come in and talk. She looked like a deer in headlights and said nothing until a man, presumably Mr. Wagner, came up next to her. Dean repeated the request and the man nodded and let them in.

In the beginning of the interview, Mr. Wagner answered the questions, keeping his arm protectively around his wife. At some point early on, however, the woman mumbled some excuse and shuffled away.

"She's having a hard time with all this," the man explained once she was gone, "we both are. It was so sudden and... he was so young. I'm sure you can understand."

Rather than some polite response, Dean immediately went back to the interview. "Do you know of any reason someone might have to do this?"

He shook his head furiously, "no, of course not. I don't know how anyone _could_ do such a thing. And to a child... it's almost inhuman."

"It was the witch," a small voice came from above them. Looking over them from the balcony next to the staircase was another child. Kyle's brother, older by a few years. He looked worn and almost scared.

"Matt, stop. Go to your room," the father snapped.

"It was though, I know it was," the boy insisted, "she's mad because he threw rocks at her house. I told him not to."

"I said go to your room," the father repeated, and this time at he boy obeyed. He turned back to the 'detectives'. "Please, don't mind him. He doesn't know any better."

Both simply nodded and Dean wasted no time in asking: "what's that about a witch?"

"It's nothing, just boys being boys. Ms. Brand, lives just outside of town. She's not a witch, of course, just old. We try to stop them from harassing the poor woman, but there's only so much you can do, you know?"

They didn't have many questions after that, so they thanked the family for their help. A "sorry for your loss" from Sam and they were on their way.

"Man, I hate witches," Dean complained as soon as they were back in the car.

"Do you think it really is one? I mean, witches aren't actually creepy old ladies in falling apart houses outside town, that's just a stereotype. Plus, no sign of hex bags anywhere."

"You're right, plus, why would the bodies be sucked dry if we had a witch? Can't help but notice though, the brother said she was mad because they threw rocks at her house."

"And?"

"The kid was beaten... Or maybe he wasn't." Sam shot him a confused look. "There wasn't a scratch on him. No sign of abuse. But the ME said he had a lot of broken bones. So I thought, what else could do that? Stoning was the only other thing I could think of. Revenge for tossing rocks."

"Stoning? But wouldn't that leave marks too?"

"Not if it didn't actually happen."

"Can you stop with the cryptic stuff? What do you think happened?"

"I think maybe it wasn't a witch, but maybe there is some magic at work here. Dad's journal, he mentioned something called a 'soucoyant'. Not much on it, all he wrote was 'witch-vampire-spirit'."

"Well that's helpful."

"We know what to research. It's a start."

Sam nodded in agreement, "it's a start."

It was getting late, so they headed back to their motel room. Dean immediately flopped onto a bed and, though Sam could tell he wasn't asleep, he didn't move much for the rest of the night. Normally, Sam wouldn't let Dean relax while he was buried in research, but he decided to let it slide for now. Besides, Dean was anything but relaxed. He noticed the restless twitching and clenched fists and occasional violent tremors and could only assume that he was going through more memories. He wished that there was something he could do to help, but he knew that any effort would be pointless. At the moment, Dean was lost in memories of the Hell he'd endured, literal and figurative. Eventually, he did drift off to sleep, but that only seemed to make his mental suffering worse, tossing and turning and softly crying out at one point. Sam found himself torn between waking him out of the nightmares and allowing him the sleep he so desperately needed. He narrowly decided on the latter, sure that no matter how many times he was woken out of it, every one of Dean's dreams would be a nightmare. It was horribly painful to see his brother in such bad shape and be so completely powerless to help. Dean may not be a demon anymore, but he was still going through hell. Sam reluctantly settled on research and finally let himself get some sleep as well when he found how to kill a soucoyant. They would look more into actually killing the thing in the morning. For now, Sam fell asleep trying to tune out the disturbing sounds of his brother suffering his own personal hell.


	69. Witches and Vampires and Demons, Oh My

Just as the day before, Dean was already out of bed when Sam woke up. Today, however, he wasn't bouncing a ball off the walls or cleaning guns or researching or anything. Rather, he was quietly sitting on the couch and intently staring at the lamp on the table next to it.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked tiredly.

Dean started a bit, as if he'd forgotten that Sam was there. He looked up and responded, equal parts excited, confused, and scared, "Dude, I have mojo."

"What?" Sam sat up, now both curious and concerned.

"Just look." Dean went back to staring intently at the lamp. Sam watched in surprise as it began to flicker weakly then flash brightly before going dark. Dean looked up at his brother expectantly, but his expression fell when he saw the worry in Sam's face.

Sam wasn't sure exactly what to say. It seemed that not only were the demon powers resurfacing, but Dean was remembering how to use them. Hopefully the pull of power that came with them before wouldn't also return. He definitely needed to talk to Balthazar as soon as this case was over with. Seeing that Dean was waiting for some reaction, he managed a hesitant "well that's – um – wow. How did you —"

"I don't know," Dean interrupted, "all I know is that I woke up, I got kind of... kind of mad, and the lights started freaking out. I know that I could do it before too. When I was – when I was a demon." He still couldn't quite say it without stumbling over the statement, still not really accepting its reality. "And then I got to thinking," he continued, "there were some other times too. Like my nose healing so fast. Or when we got busted at that bar: we were locked up at the station one minute, and back at the motel the next." He seemed to realize something, "you knew, didn't you? When that happened, you asked if I did it. I just thought you were crazy, but it was me, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded slightly, "I'm pretty sure it was."

"Well why didn't you say anything? You knew that I had demon mojo this whole time and you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't want to freak you out. It wasn't anything serious, so I figured it could wait until you kind of got used to the fact that —"

"That I used to be some mindless disgusting hell-spawn? Yeah, pretty sure I'm never going to get used to that. Well what the hell does this mean anyway? I'm human but I can still do all this demon crap?"

"Well it's not unheard of."

Dean thought about this for a second. "That was different, you have demon blood," he responded quietly.

"So did you," Sam pointed out, "maybe, I don't know, you just need time to detox and the ex-demon stuff will just go away on its own."

Dean nodded slightly, though doubtful. He decided to change the subject, relieve some of the tension and get their minds off of the issue before the conversation transitioned into _how he was feeling_ again. He really didn't feel like sharing and caring at the moment. "So you find anything on the soucoyant?"

Sam paused slightly at the subject change before getting up and going over to his notes. "I found plenty. Everything from how it lives to how to kill it. I'm positive that this is what we're up against."

"Care to share with the class then?"

"Every piece of lore I found says that the soucoyant is disguised as an elderly woman who lives on the outskirts of villages."

"Great, how much you wanna bet that that old Ms. Brand has a dirty secret. So we have to gank some old lady?"

"Well that's just during the day. At night," Sam read directly from his notes, "it keeps its skin in a jar and flies into town in the form of a fireball."

"Ah, now that's more like it. Explains the burns on the victims too. So how do we kill a fireball?"

"It'll burn up and die in the sun —"

"Ironic."

"— so we just have to make sure that it can't get back to its human body. Distract it by, quote, 'heaping rice at the village crossroads' and it'll have to collect every grain. Then destroy it by putting rock salt in the jar with its skin."

"Doesn't sound too hard."

"There's a catch."

"There always is," Dean sighed.

"There's still the 'witch' and 'vampire' parts."

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna love this," Sam commented sarcastically.

Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm sure. Just spit it out."

"According to legend, the soucoyant trades the blood from its victims for dark magic."

"That would explain why there was no hex bag on the kid. Trade how?"

"With a demon that supposedly lives in the forest near the old woman's house."

As anticipated, the mention of a demon rather annoyed Dean. "Well that's just frickin wonderful, so not only do we have a bloodsucking fireball with dark magic, there's a frickin demon in town too."

Sam responded calmly, as he'd learned to when his demon brother's temper flared up. "Well we've got our work cut out for us. Can't really do much until it gets dark though." He paused to let Dean calm down a little, then asked simply: "Breakfast?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

* * *

At breakfast, Dean ordered what was likely the largest stack of pancakes Sam had ever seen, grinning like a maniac when it was set in front of him.

"You aren't seriously going to eat all that."

"Oh, I seriously am." Dean wasted no time digging in.

"You're a pig," Sam said with a laugh.

"Hey, I deserve this. I haven't had breakfast in how long? Nine hundred years?"

"Believe me, you got plenty when you got back the first time."

Sam knew right away that he'd said something he shouldn't have. Dean shot his brother a glare that again made him expect the blue demon eyes. "Not me," he said gravely before turning back to his food, just prodding at it with his fork. "I do remember though. It was more out of habit than anything I guess. Because demons don't eat, don't get hungry. So yeah, I _did_, but I couldn't really appreciate it." He shook his head slightly then shoved a forkful into his mouth, suddenly relaxed again, "I sure as hell appreciate it now," he said through the mouthful, effectively ending the conversation. A somewhat tense silence and about three quarters of a pancake stack later, Dean spoke up again, "so if we can't go after this thing until dark, why don't we just go after the demon now?"

"We should take care of the soucoyant first. It attacks people to trade with the demon, so if the demon's gone, we might not get the chance to kill it."

"But if the demon's gone, there wouldn't be any soucoyant to worry about. Wouldn't need to attack people if there was no demon to trade with."

"Well it'd still be here. We need to tie up all the loose ends. Unless you wanna have to come back later and finish it. Why are you so eager to get to the demon?"

"I just want to get rid of it, that's all," he said, suddenly defensive. "Nothing wrong with that."

Sam furrowed his brow, unsure, "did you want to talk about something?"

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

"It's nothing."

"If you ever do want to—"

"_Damnant_, I said it's fine," Dean interrupted angrily, the light over their table flickering slightly. He grimaced at the involuntary Latin and looked away, taking a few calming breaths before continuing, his voice dark and quiet. "I'm not doing this right now. I'm already freaking out with all this demon crap and I don't want to have a scene in a god damned diner. So let's just save the touchy-feely therapy crap for later, okay?"

He just nodded, not wanting to upset the ex-demon any more. Sam was worried for his brother. His temper seemed to be getting shorter by the hour and his behavior harsher and more detached. It seemed like, as the powers resurfaced, the personality of the demon was coming back too. The more he remembered, the more he changed. It wasn't too bad yet, but if things continued to progress at this rate the same way they had when Dean was a demon, then total insanity was just around the corner. Sam would not stand to watch Dean lose his humanity yet again. That damn angel had promised him his human brother back, but what he'd gotten was much closer to the demon. The only thing missing was the set of haunting blue eyes. They needed to get this case finished as soon as possible so that Sam could call Balthazar back to sort things out, tie up loose ends.


	70. On Your Marks, Get Set, Go

For Dean, night time couldn't come fast enough. All he wanted was to be active to at least temporarily distract from his thoughts. He spent the majority of the day dodging Sam's attempts to get him to talk. He didn't want to share. Re-experiencing all of the demon memories for himself was bad enough, but recounting them to Sam and putting to words how they made him feel just made everything worse. Plus he hated that look of pity that Sam wore whenever Dean expressed fear or worry or pain. It made him feel guilty for complaining.

No matter how much Sam may try, Dean would never expose him to how he was actually feeling. The majority was a sickening, ever-present helplessness as he discovered things that should never have happened, things that he should have prevented rather than caused. But then, underneath it all, there was some level of excitement that utterly confused and terrified and disgusted him. Dean would never admit this even to himself, much less to his brother.

Then there were his occasional outbursts. He was just so mad all the time now. He didn't know why, but it was always there. Mixed with his now constant feelings of fear and confusion and self-hatred, all it took was a little provoking to make everything bubble up to the surface in a small explosion of anger. Sam, unintentionally being the most common instigator, usually got the brunt of it. After the fact, Dean felt horrible for directing his anger at his brother, Sam definitely didn't deserve it. At the moment, however, he couldn't even control his thoughts, much less his actions. At the very least, he was glad that the outbursts were never physically violent. He would never be able to forgive himself if he ever harmed Sam, intentionally or not, in one of his fits of rage. Luckily, the outbursts were just loud and angry and often Latin.

That was the strangest part for Dean. It was never intentional, but he couldn't deny that it just felt natural whenever Latin happened to spill out. Felt pure. He didn't quite know why, but he could guess: a vast majority of his thoughts came across in Latin as well, and he'd noticed that every (non-torture-centric) memory of Hell followed suit; it seemed to be the primary language. Seeing as, though he may not remember it all, Dean _had_ spent the majority of his life in the pit, it was only natural that he'd become accustomed to the language. Even so, it surprised him whenever Latin involuntarily took the place of his intended English expression, and he could tell that it scared Sam too.

Understandable, he supposed. It must have been hard for him when Dean came back after seven years as, well, not quite Dean. He had no memory of interacting with his brother after going complete, insane, dark-side demon, but he knew that he must have at some point. Dean had a good enough idea of how cruel and horrible he'd become, probably even worse than most of the other creatures they'd hunted. He didn't even want to think about what he may have said or _done_ to Sam to make him so afraid. Just another thing to add to the list of things Dean shunned himself for: Sam was terrified of him. He was obviously trying to hide it, but Dean could see right through him.

He supposed the sudden demon powers weren't helping either. Just like the Latin, they happened without his permission. However, the demon powers actually had the potential to be dangerous. So far, they hadn't been harmful, but according to his resurfacing memories, Dean had once been able to cause a lot of damage with little more than a thought. What if the more destructive powers decided to show up during one of his increasingly common fits of rage? What if the next time he lost his temper, he ended up unintentionally blowing up a building. The potential was there and he really didn't know how to control any of it. All in all, Dean was afraid of himself.

Everything was so much easier when he had no idea what had happened the past seven years. Now, he felt that he'd probably be better off not knowing. Then maybe he wouldn't be constantly attacked by memories of being tortured in Hell and doling it out himself. He would rather not know the details of brutally removing organs, all the while listening to the owner scream and plead him to just kill them already. Grinning down at a still sentient pile of once-human mush and simply saying 'see you tomorrow'. Memories like this were now constantly getting piled on, one after another. He couldn't stand to watch all of the unspeakable things he'd done in the pit, but there were hundreds of years' worth of memories and he had a feeling that they weren't going away any time soon.

* * *

It was a relief when the sun finally started going down. Dean didn't want to wait any longer and suggested they wait outside the soucoyant's house so that they could catch the fireball flying into town.

It was no wonder the local kids thought the old woman was a witch. The house definitely fit the bill: it was big and old, all of the paint not yet chipped off was faded to grey, the wooden siding was rotting away, and it looked to be threatening to collapse at any moment. Surrounding the property on all sides was its own personal forest, very dense with large, ancient trees. As if to highlight the overall ominous feeling of the place, there were absolutely no signs of life. No birds, no rustling off in the bushes, not even so much as a fly.

Dean was the first voice a plan. "So, I say we split up. One of us can go distract it, the other can stay and find the skin," he made a face at the thought.

"Who does what?"

Dean put out his hands for rock paper scissors, "loser stays."

The quick game had Dean sulking and reluctantly giving up the driver's seat so that Sam could follow the thing into town.

The sun finally disappeared and, sure enough, about twenty minutes later, a ball of fire could be seen exiting the house through a window on the top floor. Sam drove after it and Dean started towards the old house, salt in hand.


	71. This Old House

Something about this house just felt wrong. Sure, it looked pretty creepy with the forest seemingly reclaiming it and the lack of noise was unnerving, but there was something else that Dean couldn't quite place. Something in the air just felt wrong. Wrong and uncomfortable, but somewhat... familiar? He didn't like it. On top of it, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched as he trudged through the overgrown grass to the front door. This place was getting creepier by the second.

Dean got to the door and, wanting to get away from the uneasy feeling outside, wasted no time in trying the handle. It initially stuck a little due to the encasing rust, but then gave after just a little jostling. Not too surprising that it was open, monsters have no need for locked doors. Dean glanced around the yard one more time then took a few tentative steps inside. Seeing no traps or anything of the sort, he headed for the general area he saw the soucoyant exit the house. Up the (rather unstable) stairs and to the right, the corresponding room would be at the very end of the hall.

But, naturally, nothing can ever be that easy. The second Dean took a step towards the room, the hall seemed to stretch out in front of him. The farther forward he went, the farther away the room moved and no matter how he may try, he'd never make it there. Of course that would be the part of the house to be protected. At least he knew that he was headed in the right direction; monsters have no need for locked doors, that is, unless it was to guard a weakness.

One thing that Dean knew for sure was that plain old dark magic doesn't work like this. Can't be controlled remotely. Which meant that this was dark magic's close cousin: witchcraft. Great. There had to be some mark or sigil of some sort used to set the trap, he would just need to find it and break it.

Dean expected such a task would be grueling and difficult, but it proved to be rather the opposite. He didn't quite understand why, but something in the back of his mind told him to just focus on what he wanted to find. Probably yet another weird ex-demon ability coming to his aid. It was probably bad that things like this kept happening, but he'd save questioning the morality of using demon powers for later. It was strange, but doing so was almost automatic. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and stood perfectly still, focusing solely on the spell that he knew had to be near. After only a few seconds, his mind provided the answer. Dean turned to the slightly peeling wallpaper to his right, somehow positive that it was there. He tore the loose paper away from the wall and, sure enough, an intricate blood sigil was revealed. Definitely the cause of the hallway distortion.

He suddenly regretted not bringing spray paint or anything of the like to deface the sigil and Sam had driven away with all of their supplies. All he had was his handgun, salt, and holy water, so he would just have to make do. A little splash of the holy water allowed him to rub the mark off easily. Once satisfied, Dean again tried walking down the narrow hall, this time, to his relief, actually making progress towards the room.

This door, of course, was locked. Dean pulled out his lock pick and knelt in front of the handle to take care of this. However, the second the lock pick got near the door, it bent out of shape, rendered completely useless. "Frickin magic" Dean mumbled as he stood, thoroughly annoyed. It was hard to find a lock pick that good. Now far too impatient to try to unlock it again, he took a step back and kicked the door with all his force. Sloppy, yet effective, plus, this house was falling apart anyway; if the door didn't give, the doorframe probably would. It proved to be much easier than he expected, and as he entered the rather small and dusty room, he tried not to notice that the handle got bent to quite an odd angle.

There was an altar in the center of the room and the walls were lined with shelves packed with jars Dean would rather not question the contents of. There were containers of all shapes and sizes, ranging from ancient and cloudy to new and spotless. The wall to the left of the door seemed to be completely dedicated to jars of blood. The smell told him that the majority was human, with a few of goat and lamb and other miscellaneous animals. Before he had time to question why exactly he could automatically distinguish this by smell, his eyes fell on a single, very large, decorated clay pot in the far corner of the room. That must be what he was looking for, the soucoyant's skin.

Dean swiftly crossed the room to it, pulling out his salt. Trusting that Sam had the thing distracted, he warily lifted the lid. The second the pot was opened, a vomit-inducing smell hit him hard. He quickly re-covered the pot and turned away to catch his breath (though the overall scent of the room wasn't too pleasant either) before trying again, this time opening it quickly and using the lid to wave away the smell of rotting flesh. He hazarded a glance inside and found what he could only describe as an old woman slushie. "That is disgusting," he commented as he dumped a good majority of his salt into the pot. Probably more than necessary, but he wanted to be thorough.

After again sealing the pot shut, Dean made his way out of the house. He had his phone out and was about to call Sam back when he reached the front yard and that uneasy feeling hit him again. This time, he could tell that it was coming from the dense woods to the side of the house. He then remembered the one detail Sam had mentioned about the woods: that was where the demon would be.

The second he realized this, a memory hit him. Outside a motel, sulking about something, he'd felt this same thing. He'd rushed into their room to find Sam being attacked by a demon. That had to be what he was feeling. The demon. This, unlike the soucoyant, he was eager to hunt down, and by some basic impulse, he wanted to do so alone.

Dean put his phone back into his pocket and pulled out his gun, and followed his odd sense of the demon into the woods, letting the thick forestation devour him.


	72. Better Run Through The Jungle

The thick forest just became more eerie as Dean went. The edge of it leading to the yard seemed to completely disappear as he was engulfed by the underbrush. The worst part was the dead silence, the only sound coming from Dean's boots. A place this vast and untouched should be home to at least some birds or something, but aside from the endless vegetation, there was no sign of life. That odd feeling in the air was gradually getting stronger and he knew that he had to be getting close.

Going after the demon alone probably wasn't the best plan. He realized this now that he was deep in the woods with no turning back; the demon probably knew by now that he was here. He was hardly prepared, all he had in terms of weapons was his gun and he'd wasted a good amount of both the salt and holy water in taking care of the soucoyant. He had no means of killing the demon, so he would just have to exorcise it.

Even with odds stacking against him, Dean kept on following the feeling of the demon. He was starting to wonder just how far he would have to go when he reached a small clearing in the knee-high underbrush. A perfect circle of dirt surrounding a single, particularly large tree. This had to be it. He could feel the demon very close, he had to be practically on top of it, but it was nowhere to be found. He checked his gun clip one last time before carefully making his way around the giant trunk. Nothing. No demon in sight.

Then from above him, suddenly breaking the dead silence, came a rather excited "oh, no way."

Dean turned just in time to see a figure fall from above and land with cat-like fluidity. He straightened and looked up at Dean with a large and genuinely amused grin. The guy it was possessing couldn't have been more than twenty and was clad all in black. "You're the demon working with the soucoyant," Dean assured, keeping his gun trained on the demon.

"Please," his eyes glossed over black, "call me Bazil. And I guess I don't have to ask who you are." He tilted his head, curious, smile still in place, "it really is you, isn't it? I was a little confused when I felt a demon show up chasing that thing, but now it makes sense. Dean Winchester: Hell's most famous demon slayer, thought you'd come for me eventually."

A demon? "What the hell are you talking about?"

Bazil leaned casually against the tree, eyes fading back to their human shade, "You, breaking thousands of souls in Hell only to turn on Alistair as soon as you break yourself. Taking over for a while as the cruelest and most effective torturer anyone's ever seen. Then you drop off the map to go play hunter. Everyone knows the story, you really are a legend. It's an honor, really. I mean, plenty of hunters have stopped by, but it's not every day a legend stumbles onto my doorstep. And a dead one at that. Rumor has it that that angel got you." He realized something with quite a bit of excitement, "they're all going to want to know. Hadrian and Elise will sure be glad to hear you're alive. What ever did you do to get such loyal followers?"

Dean ignored the question because, honestly, he didn't know. He did, however, recognize the names. Hadrian and Elise: his followers, his elites. But, if he recalled correctly, there was a third. Bazil seemed to think that Dean was still the powerful demon he once was. Which, if it meat that this demon wasn't attacking him, he was willing to play along with for now. Besides, maybe he could fill in a few blanks. "What about Arian?"

"Angel did get him. Oh and I bet Marik will be glad to know, heard he's been out for your head for a while, after what you did to him."

Marik. The name rang a bell, but Dean couldn't quote remember what he'd done.

"Really, all of them are." Bazil continued, "A lot of demons were pretty disappointed to hear you were dead, wanted to be able to kill you themselves. I guess hunting doesn't make you a lot of friends, huh? Do-gooder demon, that's how they all see you. A softie with way more power than you deserve. They hate it. But that's not really the case, is it? You don't kill your own kind for 'the greater good of humanity' or whatever, you just love the hunt and go for the sweeter prize. A pretty good system, if you ask me. See, I've just got my pet do do the dirty work and bring the goods. But you go out and get it yourself and really get more out of it. We're not that different you know. So what if we cut a deal? You leave me be, I won't go back downstairs and spread the word that you're still kicking to everyone who wants you dead."

Due to the demon's perfectly calm and casual appearance, Dean hadn't realized until now that he'd been trying to talk his way out of being killed this whole time. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"

A look of fear briefly peeked through, but he quickly composed himself. "Whatever you want to call it."

The reaction amused him. Apparently, though he did a good job of hiding it up to this point, Bazil was afraid of him, and he probably wasn't the only one. What was it he'd called Dean? 'Hell's most famous demon slayer'? Of all the strange things coming out of this whole experience, demons fearing him had to be the best. He may be able to work this to his advantage. "But if I kill you, you won't be able to spread the word."

He nodded slightly, now looking openly afraid, "okay, fair point." His brow furrowed, "it's curious though how you haven't yet. That is what you're here for, isn't it? Everyone who's lived to tell a story says you're not one to stick around and talk." He pushed off the tree and started to slowly move towards the hunter, all traces of fear forgotten, "and you could just finish me with just a thought, what do you need that gun for?"

Dean wished he was able to do anything about his situation. However, if he exorcised the demon, then it would bring all of hell down on his head. At this point, a bullet to the chest or head would only annoy it. His only hope was to either trap or kill it, and he had no way of doing either. He now regretted going after the demon alone, he regretted not calling Sam.

Bazil stopped only about a foot from the barrel of Dean's gun. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. His head tilted slightly and he took one more little sniff before snapping open his pitch black eyes with a demented smile. A wave of the demon's hand slammed Dean against the huge tree and held him there.

"So the angel _did_ get to you. You're weak." He looked at Dean curiously, "strange, you're like a human, even smell like one, but you still register as a demon." His grin grew even wider, "the hell you must be going through; if your fine feathered friend thought he was doing you any favors, he was dead wrong. Humans aren't equipped to deal with Hell, it must be maddening."

"If you're going to kill me, just do me a favor and save the lecture," Dean managed. He wasn't afraid. At this point, he would be completely fine with dying. Sure, it might be hard on Sam, but he'd managed last time.

"Kill you? Of course not. There are so many who want that more than me. No, I don't want to kill you, I just want to see you dead. I'm going to go spread the word that_ Dean Winchester_ is back, and not only that, but he's _human_. Thousands of demons are going to come and tear you to shreds. Give you a proper punishment."

"I don't think so," a voice came from behind the demon. Noticing Sam join them in the clearing, Bazil dropped Dean and tried to make a quick getaway. Some quickly recited Latin and the demon was forced back into its body just as the tip of a blade sprouted from his chest. The demon staggered a bit then fell to the ground with a flash of light.

"Great timing," Dean commented.

"Let's go," was Sam's only response as he disappeared from the clearing, not even waiting for his brother to follow.


	73. Don't Let It Bring You Down

Sam was angry. Dean could feel it as clearly as he could see it (though he decided now wasn't a good time to question the new sense), but he had no idea what about. Therefore, Dean didn't protest when Sam took the driver's seat. After a moment of tense silence, he spoke up. "Okay, what? What is it?"

Sam shot him an annoyed glare then turned back to the road with a huff. He spoke slowly and chose his words carefully to sound at least somewhat calm. With how angry and annoyed Sam was now, the last thing they needed was to tip off Dean's explosive temper as well. That was sure to end badly. He still couldn't completely hide the annoyance in his voice. "Look, I know that you're having a hard time dealing with things and maybe you aren't really thinking straight, but did you seriously think that going after that demon alone was a good idea? Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? You are damn lucky that I got there when I did, or that I even found you at all. You knew that we were going to go after the damn thing anyway. What, you couldn't have waited ten more minutes? Why didn't you just call? You could have at least given a fair warning that you were about to do something stupid." He trailed off, running out of words.

There was a pause as Dean processed this. It hadn't really occurred to him that Sam would care so much. Both of them kind of had a habit of making stupid decisions and both knew this, but they also always had each other's backs in tight situations. Sometimes they cut it close, but there was always some understanding of the other's decision and minimal hard feelings. However, Sam seemed pretty bothered and it made Dean wonder what he was missing. "Okay," he said finally, "it was stupid, I get it. I'm sorry."

"It's just..." Sam started, but changed his mind before finishing the sentence, "You just have to be more careful." Dean responded only with a nod. After a short silence, Sam sighed and hesitantly confessed, "It's just that, I can't – I can't lose you again, Dean. It's been so long and now you're back and I just _can't_ lose this again." He paused before continuing, "I know that it's nothing compared to what you went through, but that first year or so you were gone I didn't know what to do. All the drinking probably should've killed me. Then years later, as soon as I started to get over it, you show up again. Which was great until it wasn't you anymore. I watched you turn into a monster, lost you a second time. And I just can't do that again, I can't lose you again. So can you at least _try_ not to get killed? Because if you die again, I swear, this time I'm going with you."

Dean nearly laughed, "that's why you're mad? Really? You can't seriously expect me to apologize for going to Hell."

"That's not what I—"

Dean interrupted, reaching the end of his short temper, "let's get this straight, you have no right to bitch at me about how bad you had it. I was in _Hell_, as in there is literally no place worse in existence. So sure, it wasn't exactly a walk in the park up here, but let's keep in mind that I burned in Hell for nine hundred years_ for you_. You can't imagine how bad it got, hell, it was so bad that I finally snapped. You know, maybe I didn't care before about what happened down there, but that was when I belonged there. It's different now and yeah, dammit, it scares the living hell outta me. I'm trying to deal, but it's hard and I'm starting to lose it I can tell." He paused for a moment, seeming to lose track of what his argument was. When he spoke again, it sounded difficult, slower and pained, "case and point... the last thing I want is to go back there. So don't... whine about it, I'm not – I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Sam nodded slightly, feeling guilty about complaining when Dean really did have it so much worse. "I don't want you to go back either. We'll make sure that won't happen. It'll be fine."

There was no response from Dean. Sam glanced over to see his clenched fists and pained expression with eyes squinted shut. The same look he always got when hit with a demon memory. "Dean?"

Dean started a little and shook away whatever was happening in his head. He answered without opening his eyes, pained expression still not quite going away, "yeah. Sorry." A few more moments of silence to allow Dean to recover. He spoke quietly, keeping his head down, obviously negatively affected by the latest memory, "thanks, Sammy. For having my back. It would've been real bad if that demon got away. How did you find me anyway?"

Seeing his brother's sorry state of mind softened Sam's anger, or at least redirected it to a certain angel who wasn't very good at his job. That, he'd deal with later. "I knew something was wrong when you weren't answering your phone. The soucoyant was distracted, so I rushed back. And finding you wasn't too hard, that place is silent."

Dean took a minute to answer, as if scared or worried. "So you heard then. What the demon said. About me."

There it was, the most crucial part that neither wanted to talk about. Most of the reason Sam was angry, whatever part of his anger that wasn't originally directed at Dean's carelessness. "Yeah, I heard."

"How much?" he asked simply.

"Enough."

"How. Much." Dean annunciated, still not quite calmed from the first temper flare-up, aware that he was on the edge of an outburst. With his pain and self-hatred and internalized anger all heightened by everything Bazil had said, he was practically a ticking time bomb.

"'Hell's most famous demon slayer', 'do-gooder demon', everyone thinks you're dead, and, uh, that last part."

Dean nodded, looking disturbed at each reminder, "he thought I was still a demon, said I still register as one."

"Yeah, what did he mean by that?"

"Demons can sense other demons, I guess. I know that I could. Can. That's how I found that one. Don't know what the hell it means though. I mean, I'm obviously not. I can't be, right?" Some of his inner fear and confusion came forward in his voice.

"I don't know. I mean, you can still do everything you could then. But the salt and holy water don't hurt, right?" Dean just shrugged. Sam thought for a minute then wondered aloud, "could you still be trapped?"

"What?"

"Well it'd be good to know. The demons all think you're dead, but there're probably still hunters after you."

"I'm not a demon, of course I can't be trapped."

Sam spoke hesitantly, preparing for the worst, "well I'm not... one hundred percent sure... about that."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean answered, sounding angry and somewhat scared. "I am _not_ still a demon. You said it yourself, that angel fixed it. The salt and holy water do nothing to me."

Sam continued as calmly as possible, not wanting to provoke Dean any more, "they didn't do much before either. You were really powerful by the time the angel came in. I mean, I don't know about holy water, but we were in the middle of the ocean and the salt didn't even bother you. Maybe it just has a small effect and you just don't notice it?"

"No. Absolutely not. The angel fixed me."

"Well about that—"

"What, have you just been lying out your ass this whole time?" Dean interrupted angrily.

"The angel said that he could fix you if there was some humanity left." Dean cocked an eyebrow. Sam continued, "he checked, there was. Guess that was why you worked with me for a while. He left to get some things and left us alone to talk."

"And?"

He was hesitant, afraid of how Dean may react, "and I think that at some point while we were talking, you just kind of... let it go. Maybe the spell didn't work because... there wasn't any... humanity left."

Dean's voice and features were equally dark, "what makes you say that?"

"You, uh, you tried to kill me." Sam grimaced at the memory, the image of his brother attacking him, crazed and murderous intent shining in his dark blue eyes. No trace of mercy or compassion or anything akin to humanity, nothing even reminiscent of Dean. Just the feral insanity that Hell had left behind.

Dean looked completely shocked. "I - what?" He shook his head, "no. No, I - I couldn't. Not you."

Sam just pulled back the collar of his shirt and pushed back his hair a bit to show the yellowing bruises on his neck in the distinct shape of a hand.

The truth of the matter hit Dean like a ton of bricks. He didn't know how to react. Some sort of apology had to be in order, but how could he possibly apologize for trying to kill his brother. 'I'm sorry' surely wasn't anywhere near the kind of apology he owed Sam. All Dean could think to do was to hide his face so that Sam wouldn't see the panic and disgust and confusion and helplessness there. He couldn't do much past trying to control his breathing and hold back the bile quickly rising in his throat. No wonder Sam got so scared every time Dean developed anything vaguely demonic, the fully demon version of himself truly had to be something out of a nightmare. He wondered what else he may have said or done to Sam after completely losing it. He really was gone, just another demon by the end. The thought made him sick. It made sense now why Sam was always so worried about him. He'd seen Dean regress into one of the things they spend their lives killing and now he must be afraid that it would happen again. But even after the demon had threatened him and taunted him and tried to kill him, he still tried to fix things, make Dean human again. Maybe it hadn't worked entirely, but that was no one's fault but Dean's.

Seeing that Dean was in no shape to talk, Sam spoke up, "it's fine though. I'm fine. And it wasn't really you. It's alright."

"Eam est non Licuit!" He shouted before thinking, quickly following it with an angry _"Damnant, poterone iustus loqui?!" _He paused to focus then tried again through clenched teeth, "it's not 'alright', Sam, and you know it. You tell me that I tried to kill my own brother and then you say it's alright? That's not something you just forgive. And I know that you're not 'fine'. I can tell that you're_ afraid of me_ because of this and I can't do anything about that. So stop pretending like everything's just hunky dory because, hell I'm losing my mind over here."

Sam was silent for a moment, shaking off Dean's sudden outburst. It was true, he _was_ afraid. It scared him every time Dean started to seem even a little like his demonic self, but not entirely for the reasons Dean assumed. "I'm just scared of losing you again."

Dean didn't respond for a long time, focusing all his energy into breathing and trying to calm himself. "Yeah," he responded finally, "me too."

**A/N: So sorry for the wait. Just got back from vacation/LeakyCon. So here's an extra long, extra feels-y chapter to make up for my absence. Please review! I love you all.**

**LATIN:**

**eam est non Licuit - it is not alright**

**damnant, poterone iustus loqui - damn it, can I just talk**


	74. Soul Searching

They got back to the motel soon after the conversation fell. Dean stormed inside the second the car stopped. Sam let him go. He was trying to understand how panicked and helpless Dean must be feeling, and knowing Dean, the fear itself must be terrifying. A crack in the emotional armor he always wore. The murder attempt was a horrible thing for him to learn, and now it was stacking on top of everything else currently making his world crumble.

Rather than follow inside, Sam stepped out into the dark and empty parking lot. He was still angry, so he figured why not channel it into something useful? "Balthazar, you son of a bitch!" he yelled into the air, not caring who heard so long as the angel was among them. "You'd better get your feathered ass down here, pronto!"

A rustle of wings sounded and the angel was suddenly standing in front of him, arms crossed. "Now that is no way to talk to a divine being. Watch your manners."

"Where the hell have you been? What happened to keeping an eye on us to make sure it worked?"

"I got distracted. I do have other things to do, you know. You could've called."

"Didn't think I needed to until now. But while you've been off doing 'other things', we've been busy finding out that you didn't really do as well as you thought."

Balthazar's brow furrowed slightly in something along the lines of confusion or worry, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that it didn't work. The spell didn't work. It did something, sure, but not what we wanted."

"What did it do then?"

Sam sighed exasperatedly and ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know, he didn't remember a thing when he woke up, but after a while his memory started coming back. I thought it was fine until the demon powers showed up too. Then, we find some other demon who couldn't tell the difference, thought he still was one. So now he's starting to go crazy and I don't even know if my brother's a demon or not."

Balthazar now looked openly worried, "I warned you, I wasn't sure exactly what would—"

"One hundred percent human," Sam angrily cut him off. "That's what you promised me. Now, I'm not sure what's going on, but I know that Dean sure as hell is not one hundred percent human. So what went wrong?"

"I don't understand, it should have worked. Everything was right. I suppose I was interrupted..."

"You needed a human soul, right?"

"Yes, and I checked, there was."

"At first. But I think it died when he tried to kill me. Probably even before that."

"Well if that's the case, then it shouldn't have worked at all. It should have killed him. Maybe it was more stable because he was in his own body or maybe because he was young. I didn't think it was possible for a demon to be strong enough to survive..."

"Whatever happened, it's your problem now just as much as mine. Time to finish what you started."

Balthazar nodded and thought on this. After a minute, he responded, "very well. I need to see his soul again to find out what we're dealing with."

Sam relaxed slightly. "Thank you," he told the angel before leading him inside.

* * *

Dean was completely lost. Everything he'd learned in the last hour was starting to bear down on him with a terrible weight. First he discovered the very real possibility that he may still be a demon. Then, as if that wasn't enough, Sam had to tell him just what kind of monster he'd been. He didn't know what to do.

He felt like a monster. He didn't remember any of the worst, and he counted this as lucky. However, it was getting hard not to see himself as just another faceless, merciless, pitiless demon knowing that he'd done... everything that he'd done. And according to both Sam and Bazil, he might be. His world was shattering around him and there was nothing he could do. What if they were right? What if he was a demon, what then? He'd have to be killed. That's what they do, kill evil things. As long as he was a demon, that was evil enough, not even taking into consideration any of the countless acts he'd rather not think about. Sam probably wouldn't be able to do it, get all emotional about it. But it would have to be done. Dean wondered if he would have the means, guts, or even sanity to do it himself. The last one was starting to be a real concern; he seemed to be progressively losing touch with reality with each new memory.

Dean paced the floor for a few minutes just trying to sort his thoughts and calm down. However, it took all of two minutes for him to realize that neither were going to happen any time soon. He settled at the table with two glasses, one half full of whiskey, the other with the remainder of his holy water. He took a sip of the former and stared at the latter the same way he'd looked at his loaded gun when Sam first told him the truth. He just had to know if Sam was right in thinking that he was still a demon. If he was right, Dean figured that, though it may not do anything right away, the holy water should have some effect eventually. Unless, of course, he was somehow human. Whatever the outcome, it was the only way he could think of to be sure. No damage done. Well, some damage if Sam was right, but knowing for sure what he was would be worth any amount of potential pain.

One more small sip of whiskey and, ignoring both the voice in his head saying how ridiculous this was and the strong instinct telling him to stay away, he dipped his little finger (if any harm was done, may as well make it minimal minimal) into the blessed water. As expected, nothing happened at first. After a minute, however, he did start to feel a mild tingle. This progressed further the longer his skin was in contact with the liquid, tingle to sting, sting to burn. After a few minutes submerged, Dean's skin was starting to crack and blister and smoke, making the water appear to be boiling. The pain was starting to go beyond just the affected area, starting to burn its way up his arm. It was excruciating, but he was unable to move away, mesmerized by the sight, immobilized by the horror of what it meant.

He was a demon. No ifs ands or buts about it, the proof was right in front of him. All around him. He was still that monster that had shredded countless souls to bits in Hell, killed demons and hunters alike in cold blood, slaughtered forty-five innocent girls for fun, tried to kill Sam. He deserved to die. Just as much as, if not more than, the other things he spent his life eradicating. All in all, a monster like him shouldn't live to see another day, he wouldn't allow it.

**A/N: Slow slow slow. I suck. Thanks for sticking with it. I promise the next won't take as long. Review? Ich liebe dich. **


	75. Come Hell Or High Water

When Sam opened the door to the motel room, he found Dean leaned over the small coffee table, left hand wrapped up, two empty glasses in front of him. He didn't seem to notice their entrance, keeping his head down and eyes squinted shut, breathing somewhat shakily.

Seeing his brother in this state scared the hell out of Sam. Especially after how he'd reacted earlier. Every time scared him even more. He was afraid that one day he'd find Dean like this and maybe he'd never move, never come out of whatever torture was going on in his mind. Or maybe he would come out of it, but he wouldn't remember anything but Hell. Or maybe, the most terrifying possibility, he'd look up at Sam with that trademark manic grin and demonic blue eyes. The stuff of nightmares far too close for comfort. Keeping every possibility in mind, Sam approached cautiously. Balthazar stopped in the doorway to observe.

"Dean?" Sam called out gently. Catching him by surprise was never a good thing. There was a small hitch in Dean's steady breathing and he pulled the wrapped hand closer to himself. Sam took this as acknowledgement. "You alright?"

Dean shook his head slightly and answered quietly without changing his position. "Not really. Who's your friend? Not human, I can tell that much."

Sam winced slightly at the word choice, eerily similar to first meeting Balthazar as a demon. Also, he noted, apparently Dean could sense the angel's presence, just like before. "This is Balthazar," Sam introduced, "he's here to see if he can help."

Dean perked up at the name, eyes snapped open and head pivoted slightly to look at them. "Balthazar? That flunkie angel that couldn't fix me in the first place?" He straightened slightly to look at the angel, "you couldn't do shit before, what makes you think you'll be able to pull some miracle out of your ass now?"

"His attitude didn't improve any, I see," Balthazar commented. He then addressed Dean directly, "something went wrong the first time. I'm here to see what I can do about it. Which means," he started into the room, "I'm going to have to take a look at your soul to see exactly what I'm dealing with."

"What you're dealing with? What, you can't just tell? Or just ask? A demon, plain and simple. Looks like that was a bit too much for you the first time, anyway, so how're you planning on helping, huh?"

Sam was taken by surprise. A demon? Now why would he say that mere minutes after the total breakdown identity crisis in the car? "Dean, what are you saying?"

"Audistis me. I'm a demon, Sammy. Hell's own shit. Can't even handle frickin' holy water." Dean then unwrapped his hand and held it out for display. It looked as if he'd stuck it straight into a fire; skin cracked and charred and blistered in most places, holes burnt all the way to the bone in others.

"What happened?"

Dean started to rewrap his injured hand. "I just – I had to know. Bazil, that demon, he said I was one. Hell, even you said it. What was I supposed to think? So I tested it. And that holy water burned right through. Couldn't believe it, didn't want to, but I guess putting a dozen holes into my hand is convincing enough." He turned to Balthazar, "so there's your answer. Demon. Nothin' else. If you really wanna help, go for it, but I don't think you're gonna be able to do too much more than last time."

"I just need to be sure, because you definitely aren't acting like a demon, too... sane. Something's different. So I still need to have a look."

"Have a look at my soul? How the hell does that work?"

Balthazar rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward, "it's not going to be pleasant, I'll tell you that. Didn't bother you all that much last time, but I guess demons take pain better. So fair warning, this is probably going to hurt quite a bit." Dean instinctively moved slightly away as Balthazar got closer. "Happy thoughts," the angel murmured just before sinking a hand into Dean's abdomen.

This time, Dean screamed. His cries of pain didn't stop the whole time and Sam had to fight to stay put. He felt horrible for putting Dean through this, but if it meant some help with his constant mental torture, it would be worth it. It lasted more than twice as long as last time and Sam was about to step in when Balthazar finally pulled back.

Dean slumped forward, breathing labored. "Hell, you weren't kidding," he managed, voice hoarse.

"You alright?" Sam asked, worried.

He just held out a thumbs-up and leaned back in the chair, head resting against the wall, eyes closed.

Sam nodded and turned to Balthazar, who was staring down at Dean in confusion. "So?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure about what?"

"His soul is a demon's. No spark of anything else. But then his mind, that's human. It just doesn't make sense."

"And that means...?"

"I don't know. Never seen anything like it. Plus, there's something... off about him. Tainted."

"Nulla mauris," Dean spoke up, the Latin entirely casual, "I'm a demon. How about something we didn't know."

"No, tainted in a different way. Marked. I need to..." he trailed off, distracted. He suddenly looked up at Sam, "I'll be back. Eventually." he said before vanishing into thin air.

Sam was taken aback by Balthazar's sudden change in tone. Like he'd realized something important. Of course, he'd neglected to tell them.

"Frickin' useless angel," Dean complained, appearing more or less recovered. "Some help he was, he up and ditched us. Couldn't tell us anything new anyway."

"I think he's trying to help. He said he'd be back."

"Yeah, right."

"We just need to be patient."

"Yeah well I don't want to be patient, Sam!" He yelled suddenly. "'Cause I'm not okay. I'm probably not going to be okay. I just want this to be over. Like Bazil said, humans aren't equipped to deal with all the shit demons go through. I can't do this, man."

Sam spoke calmly, hoping to bring Dean down. "You shouldn't be taking a demon's word for gospel."

Dean was far from calm, getting more worked up by the second. "Shouldn't I? Because that's really the only straight information I've got. I mean, come on, I know you don't wanna tell the truth. You can't even suck it up and tell me how you're really feeling here, because I know damn well that you're not fine with all this like you keep saying."

"I just don't want to lose—"

"_Veritatem_!" Dean spat, the lights flickering with his raised temper. One bulb burst entirely, but he didn't seem to notice. "The truth, dammit!"

"Well what do you want me to say?!" Sam shouted back, finally losing his composure. It was followed by a brief but tense silence. "You want me to say that I'm scared? Alright, hell yeah I'm scared. You're scaring me man." He threw up his hands in surrender, "and I don't know what to do. I don't. Because you know what, we were raised to hate demons and anything like them. And I really do, I hate them. But at the same time, we were raised on the idea that family comes first. So what the hell am I supposed to do? My brother's a demon, bet dad never thought of that happening. So dammit, I'm doing my best. 'S all I _can_ do."

**A/N: Oh drama. Reviews make me happy. I love you.**

**LATIN:**

**audistis me - you heard me**

**nulla mauris - no shit**

**veritatem - the truth**


	76. Shadows Run From Themselves

Dean was pissed. This group of hunters had been tailing him for a full week.

He was just having some down time after his little spree back in Chicago, giving the cops and media a little space to catch their breath and wait for the worst. _Humans_, he mused with humor,_ don't even have to raise Hell, they'll imagine it for themselves._ Well, of course, he didn't cause havoc just to scare the civilians (though it was an added bonus to watch them scatter and scream). The havoc in and of itself was just plain fun. At the moment, however, he was relaxing. Ditched his own body not too long ago so that he could lay low without cops chasing him.

Anyway, the more fun he had, the easier it was for hunters to track him. These ones seemed to think they had him cornered, too. A pair, one woman one man. They'd been following him around his whole vacation, waiting for another of his trademark attacks. He'd pretended not to notice them following him to bars, 'keeping an eye on him'. Just indulging them a bit, like letting small children play spy. However, it was quickly losing its entertainment value. He planned to suck dry the last of the fun then finish them off. _Vacation's over, time to hunt some hunters_.

The demon found the pair holed up in a cheap motel and couldn't help but laugh at how similar all hunters really are. He'd realized this after a while on the other side of the hunt. And they all think they're unique and special. Naturally, the room was guarded with salt at the door and windows and a few sigils that weren't nearly strong enough to repel him. After a lifetime of hunting, he'd learned a thing or two, sure. He'd learned everything he needed to know about basic hunter defenses. It was the time as a demon, however, when he'd learned all the loopholes. Once the hunters stumbled in from who-knows-where (they actually hadn't followed him today, odd), Dean went right up to the door. He stepped to the side slightly, between the door and window, and used his powers to blast a new opening in the unprotected wall. It was messy, but the reactions were priceless. The woman jumped a good foot into the air and the man dropped the knife he was sharpening. Both of them were radiating surprise and fear; Dean savored the scent and taste of it in the air. _Good to be back in action. _

The dust settled and the demon stepped inside, unfazed by the weapons now trained on him. "Well aren't we just a merry little band here." They exchanged a small glance then just stared at him. "So you just gonna sit there like a couple lame ducks? Come on, you've been following me for days. What, like i didn't notice. Please. You want something. I'm curious. So how 'bout we have a nice, civilized little chat." A second more of stoic stares, waiting for an attack, he supposed. He just rolled his eyes and took a seat at the coffee table, completely relaxed despite the guns.

Unexpectedly, he clearly felt both relax the second he sat down. _Crap_ he'd forgotten to check for traps. Floor, nothing. Ceiling, bingo. There it was, clear as day. A cloth pinned to the ceiling directly above him displaying an overly intricate devil's trap. He could feel it pulling at him, leaving him more or less powerless.

"Alright, that's my fault. Feeling like talking now?"

Guns were lowered, but kept at the ready. The woman spoke up, "we were going to set some trap, but it looks like you've saved us the trouble."

"You are aware I'm here to kill you, right?"

"You won't be killing anyone ever again."

"Oh, I'm shivering in my skin. Don't speak too soon, sweetheart. You've never seen anything like me." He flashed her a little grin accompanied by blue demon eyes.

"What do you want?" The man interrupted.

"I'm afraid you're gonna have to be a little more specific. A slice of pie's sounding pretty good right about now." He looked mockingly thoughtful, "yeah, I think I'll kill you, then kill her, then get some pie. Or maybe have the pie while killing her. I mean, a little blood never hurts the tast—" he was cut off by a splash of holy water. A little smoke where it hit his skin, but it hardly stung. He laughed at the hunter's effort, but it did shut him up. He ended up just staring at the man with amusement and some annoyance.

"You know what I mean. What are you trying to do," the male hunter insisted, "is it some kind of ritual? You have any followers out there doing the same?"

The demon stared for a moment, thinking, then let his grin grow wide. "Oh I get it. You two think you've stumbled on the hunt of the century. Stop that famous blue-eyed demon and maybe you'll stop the apocalypse or something. Sorry to burst your bubble," he shrugged, "but I'm not planning anything."

The hunters exchanged a long look. The woman nodded and the man took the signal to retrieve something from the corner of the room.

"You send me back downstairs, you're gonna have a much bigger problem on your hands," Dean warned. "They're going to run from me, and they're going to come here. The ones that don't run, I will personally send up. Usually they wouldn't be able to get out for a hundred years or so, but enough trying at once, the walls are gonna break. The stuff of your nightmares' nightmares is gonna all pour out. You exorcise me, all Hell's gonna break loose. Literally."

"Who said anything about exorcising you?"

"What, are you gonna kill me? How you planning to do that? There are three weapons out there fit to do that, I've got one, and I know the hunter who has the other two. Unless, of course, one of you's been making deals with demons."

"It is possible, and you know it," the man spoke up, bringing forward a large sack. "It's not really a secret that demons used to be human."

"Hey, I'm not gonna deny that, 's not something we usually talk about though. Used to be a hunter, just like you." Dean couldn't help but grin at their surprise. "Specialized in killing demons, actually. Irony's a beautiful thing, innit? But hunting, that's pretty much a one way road going straight to the pit. So what about it?"

There was a little pause as they processed the information. "Well if you were a demon hunter, I think you know what."

"What's in the bag?" he asked gravely, leaning forward, eyes flicking over to blue.

"Got a friend who said he might know where to find your bones. Wouldn't give us a name for some reason, but the location was good enough. Unmarked grave, just outside Pontiac, Illinois." He shook the bag a bit before plopping it down on the floor. "Gotcha."

* * *

By sheer force of will, Dean was able to pull himself out of the memory. He didn't see the rest in vivid detail, but he did remember what happened after he stopped watching. He remembered how it felt to have his soul burned alive, remembered his stolen body spontaneously burst into flames and start the whole building on fire, burning up the trap above him. He remembered psychically snapping the hunters' necks just seconds before his body was reduced to dust. Then, much later, he remembered rising out of the ashes as a cloud of smoke, finding the incinerated remains of his body, willing it whole again, and simply walking away from the carnage.

After whatever Balthazar had done to him, Dean was remembering _everything_. The second he got out of one memory, he was thrown into another. He lost track of where he was or what he was doing in reality, forgetting that the memories were just memories, losing himself in them. He couldn't do anything but suffer through. There was quite a lot about Hell, recollections of anything else were few and far between.

Just when he pulled himself out of the latest, his mind was consumed by another. Hell. Fire. Pain. Screams. His screams. Pleading, begging for mercy from the demon above him happily slicing away.

Remembering all of this was torture. It couldn't be anything else.

* * *

Sam didn't know what to do. He felt like this was his fault. He'd lost his composure, raised his voice. It was just for a second but that little bit seemed to trigger some breakdown. As soon as Sam had finished talking, Dean had gone into a full-blown panic.

First it was just a memory, just like any other, but it seemed to quickly become more violent, completely consuming him. When the lights started to flicker and he started mumbling to himself, Sam decided it'd be best to try and pull him out of it.

Talking to him was ineffective, so he resorted to trying to shake him back to reality. That was a mistake. Dean's mumblings got louder and clearer until he was shouting at his brother _"recede a me! Me solum relinquatis!" _The lights flickered more violently, a gust of wind swept through the room, and thunder could be heard outside, so Sam decided it'd be best to leave him alone.

That was an hour ago. Now, Dean was sitting on the floor against the wall, knees tucked to his chest, arms protectively crossed over his head. Sometimes, he was silent, other times he just kept quietly repeating like a prayer, _"auxilium me. Aliquis, placet, auxilium me."_ Sam was met with the same reaction as the first time whenever he tried to help or even just got too close.

Sam was completely helpless and it scared the hell out of him. This was what he'd been dreading, the memories becoming too much for Dean to handle.

This had to be the full force of remembering Hell. Sam concluded this when he realized that whenever Dean spoke, it was in Latin. In his mind, he was crying out for help and for mercy the only way he could. In his mind, Dean was in Hell; at the moment, nothing else existed.

Not knowing what else to do, Sam took out his phone and called Bobby. If anyone could do something to help, it'd be him. He brought Bobby up to date as well as he could then told him that they needed help.

_"So you really did it? You found a cure?"_ Bobby asked.

"I thought I did. But I don't think it worked. Not entirely. And now... I don't know. I just – do you think you can help?" There was a long silence. "Bobby?"

_"Can you get 'im here?"_

"I can't move him."

_"Well can you try? 'Cause I can't do any good if I don't know what I'm dealin' with. If anythin can help, I got it here."_

"I'll try. Thanks Bobby."

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had finally wrestled his brother, swinging and cursing, into the passenger's seat and they were on their way.

**A/N: Should I add Latin translations at the ends of chapters? Because I think that might be helpful. If you want me to, just say so and I'll go back and add them and make sure they're there from now on. Anyway, review? Maybe? Love you.**

**update: the answer was an overwhelming yes, so**

**LATIN:**

**recede a me - get away from me**

**me solum relinquatis - leave me alone**

**_aliquis, placet, auxilium me - someone, please, help me_**


	77. Imprisoned

Dean was buzzing with excitement. Some dark and twisted power took the place of the adrenaline rush he usually felt when he got a fresh new soul on his rack, and he was reveling in it. It was like electricity radiating from deep inside of him, stretching out to each limb, making him feel like he couldn't stand but at the same time like he could run for years on end. As if Hell itself were egging him on. Everything was new and exciting, his mind opened to levels he never could have dreamed of. All of his thoughts and dreams and fear and pain from six hundred and forty two years down here were suddenly brought forward and morphed into boiling anger and a string of wonderfully horrible ideas. The only thing matching it was the anticipation and excitement towards what he was about to do.

Alistair was on his rack, and Dean had all the time in the world to make him pay. For the forty years of torture, of course, but mostly for everything that came after. Pay for making Dean what he was now. At the moment, he felt more powerful than his limited human mind could have ever imagined. He was renewed, he was strong, he was invincible, and his only thought was that he would make Alistair pay.

He finally chose one of the instruments he'd hardly ever used. He figured they have an eternity, might as well mix it up a bit. He turned to his mentor with new charcoal black eyes and a wicked sharp-toothed grin. "Look how the tables have turned, huh? Six hundred years and all that hard work is finally gonna pay off. This is what you wanted the whole time, isn't it? A new master torturer? Well there can't be two, now can there?" With a smooth swing, he plunged the forked instrument into the underside of Alistair's jaw, forcing him to look up at what he'd created, "maybe you shouldn't have taught me so well."

* * *

Though exhausting, Dean managed to pull out of the memory. He could suffer through his own torture, but that amount of ecstatic joy simply from the anticipation of mutilating another soul made him sick. However, pulling himself back to reality was getting more difficult every time. He suspected that this time it'd knocked him out, seeing as he was unable to move. Cut off from the world yet still conscious. Great. But as long as he didn't have to suffer through memories, he was content. He took the mental rest gladly.

**_'That was your moment of glory, but you choose to look away. Humans really are pathetic.'_**

Dean's mind stirred at the voice, if he could move, he probably would have jumped. It was _his_ voice. It was laced with malice and had an undeniable undertone of insanity, but it _was_ his voice. Well of course it was, it was coming from his mind. Maybe it was just another memory slipping through. He chose to ignore it.

'**_I'm not just gonna go away if you close your eyes and snap your fingers. You're gonna have to talk to me eventually.'_**

Not a memory. It was clearly addressing him. He was silent for a while before giving up the act. He was curious. He tentatively sent out a thought, taking from how he'd communicated with human hosts as a demon. _'What are you?'_

'**_You. The better version. The stronger, smarter, more powerful one. The demon part, you might say. This is what angel-boy was talking about. Human mind, you. Demon soul, me.' _**

Dread started to creep up the second he heard the word "demon". _'No. No that's not possible. You're not real, I'm just finally cracking up.' _Oddly, he found comfort in the idea that this was just a product of his deteriorating sanity.

'**_I'm just as real as you are. Sammy thought he got rid of me but come on, I was never really gone. Just quiet. I've been here from the second you woke up. Think about it. Fed bitch wants to take us in, I get us the Hell out of there. Sammy too 'cause hey, you've got a soft spot for the kid. You wanted to know what was going on, I helped out by pushing some memories forward. I did a lot on that last hunt. Found that witch-y sigil for you, broke that door open. Hell, I even led you to that demon in the woods so you could learn a little more. Woulda killed the son of a bitch too if Sam hadn't beaten me to it. The Latin? That's all me. The powers? That's me too. Scares the hell outta our baby bro. Good. He'll leave us alone. I play with the lights a little, you get mad enough and I can even talk to him a bit, 'cause I know how scared he is of me. Freak out Sammy enough that he'll back off. 'Cause we don't wanna talk. He wouldn't understand.'_**

Dean thought long and hard about this. It did make sense. All those times he felt like he wasn't really in control. Stranger yet, it all seemed to be helping him. Memories conveniently scattered where they'd help him understand what was happening a little better. Getting him out of a lifetime in jail. He didn't particularly want to scare Sam, but it was true what it'd said. He didn't want to talk and it was always somewhat of a relief when Sam backed off.

Following the thought process, the demon voice added, **_'I'm there for you whenever you need a little boost. I haven't done a single thing that wasn't to help you.'_**

Dean finally resigned to talking to himself out of sheer curiosity and confusion and a hint of fear. '_Why? I mean, demons don't care, right. Why would you want to help me?'_

'**_Don't you get it? I _****am****_ you. It's all in self interest. I just want one thing.'_**

'_What's that?'_

'**_I want to be where you are. In the driver's seat. I want to be the one calling the shots. 'Cause there's a lot I left unfinished when I got pushed down in favor of you. The scared little human mind. I'm Dean 2.0. New and improved. Everything's so much clearer and easier without a pesky conscience or morals or guilt getting in the way. You let me lead, I can show you. I'm the pure one. No fears, no regrets. I deserve to be in charge. I've waited long enough.'_**

'_I'm not gonna let that happen. Last time you were in control, you tried to kill Sam.'_

'**We ****_tried to kill Sam. You are me just as much as I am you. Just try to wrap your head around that. Everything I do is in our interest.' _**

_'Then what's with the memory attack? How is that helping?'_

The voice suddenly sounded much darker. **'That's helping me. Like I said, I want to be in charge. I know you're gonna fight, so I'm gonna make it so you can't. Human minds are weak. That's why demons happen, humans can't take what Hell puts 'em through. So this is me putting us through Hell. All over again. Whatever that angel did, it woke me up. I ain't going away so easy this time.' **

_'No.'_

_'__**No?'**_

'_No. I'm not going to let you take over. This is me. This is my body. This is my life. None of it's yours. You are just the thing Hell made out of me. Mindless, disgusting, hellspawn piece of crap. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in Hell any more. We're on my turf now, I'm not backing down.'_

_'**You're wrong. All this is mine too**__**. I'm you. For me, this is like being possessed, I can't move my own body. What are you gonna do anyway, kill us?'**_

_**'**__If I have to.'_

_**'Tough talk for someone that just knocked himself out because he didn't wanna watch what he did. Rather, what we did. That was when I first showed up, brand new demon. You and I worked together to make Alistair regret all that time he spent training us. You don't seem to understand what kind of position you're in here. Sure I'm not all that much yet, but fear and anger and hatred, all that makes me stronger. And you've got plenty of it. You're the one on the surface, but I'm more powerful than you. I'm the one pulling the strings. More memories, more outbursts, more panic attacks. Until you're all alone, locked up in some loony bin somewhere. Straightjacket, special cell where they keep the dangerous crazies, all alone with me, only other interaction you get is twice a day when they bring you meds that screw with your mind so bad you'll be wanting me to bust us outta there. All that will mean more fear, more doubt, more confusion, more anger, more power to me. Maybe not yet, but it's only a matter of time before it's my turn. So go ahead and fight, little soldier. To the death. **_

Before Dean could form a response, he felt the demon's presence recede. He suddenly became aware of his body in space. Reality rushed forward, some music was quietly playing and he became aware that he was moving. Listening closely, he could hear the sound of tires against pavement. Even further, he could hear Sam to his left, his breathing, his heartbeat. He could feel Sam's fear and concern as well. Dean resented the hyper-awareness, positive that it was his demon half 'helping out'. He wanted nothing to do with that.

The split personality thing really freaked him out. He was terrified that the demon would take hold if he let his guard down for even a second. Just knowing that he harbored that potential was extremely worrying. But then, of course, that was what it wanted. The fear and worry. But Dean couldn't help feeling that way. He really couldn't trust himself.

Sam. Sam would have to help keep him in check. He would be as understanding as possible about the situation. He could make sure that Dean didn't hurt anyone.

'**_Don't even think about it,' _**the demon voice suddenly warned, **_'_****_you won't tell little Sammy a thing. Unless you wanna end up comatose again. With me. Maybe another round of memories. Wanna see everything you did in Hell? 'Cause I can show you.'_**

Dean knew that he needed Sam's help, but the last thing he wanted was to be thrown back into his mind, leaving the driver's seat open for the demon to take the wheel. He couldn't allow that. Now thinking of it, though, that was exactly what just happened. He had no idea how long he was out, but judging by the amount of memories recovered, it had to be pretty substantial.

Dean slowly opened his eyes to find that he was in the passenger's seat of the impala, Sam driving down some unfamiliar stretch of road. Trying to move resulted in a few involuntary jerks and spasms before he was able to take control. Sam didn't seem to be disturbed by the movement. That was worrying, that meant he'd probably been moving around while he was out. He had to make sure that the demon in him stayed dormant, he didn't want to hurt anyone.

"Sam?" His voice came out quiet and hoarse. Sam still didn't react, keeping his pained and worried gaze on the road. Thinking maybe he hadn't heard, Dean cleared his throat and tried again, louder. Still nothing. "Dammit Sammy, what's going on?!" He shouted, starting to get freaked out by the lack of response.

At this, Sam finally looked over, surprised. "Dean?"

"What's going on," he asked again, "where are we going?"

Sam let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing. "Bobby's, we're about two hours away. Are you okay?"

Dean swallowed down the actual answer and nodded. He wanted desperately to tell Sam what he'd just learned, but he was also terrified of being locked back up in his head. "Fine."

However, he could clearly feel Sam's doubt. "You sure?"

The reaction was unsettling. "Yeah I - I'm fine," he lied, "what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head. "I know what happened up there," he tapped his temple, "but I got no idea what went on out here."

"Lots of memories, right?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so. You just kind of freaked out. Didn't know where you were, didn't know who I was. Started talking to yourself. It was like that for a good four hours. You scared the hell outta me."

SDean nodded, "I didn't... do anything, did I?" he asked. He needed to be sure.

"Broke all the lights in the motel room, some lightning whenever I tried to help. Lots of Latin, mostly asking for help or saying to stay away, but a whole conversation not too long ago. I don't know what about, couldn't keep up with it."

He just nodded again. He did remember crying out for help and yelling at captors and torturers in memories. Apparently that had all been out loud. The internal conversation with his demon half too. He wished that Sam had paid closer attention, then maybe he'd have some idea of what was really happening.

Then again, it turned out that the demon part hadn't taken control while he was out. Maybe it wasn't really strong enough. The way Dean saw it, Sam needed to know the whole situation. For his own safety if nothing else. He could brave his dark past one more time if it'd help Sam. He'd have to discover the whole of it eventually anyway.

He planned out his words and prepared to hold on with all his might. He spoke in a rush to get everything out. "Sam, I need you to listen carefully. I'm probably going to lose it again in a minute but I know what that angel was talking about."

"Wha–"

"Just listen!" Dean could feel himself being pulled back and speaking was becoming difficult, but he pushed on. "Demon's still in there. Wants out. Don't know if I can keep it down. If it gets out, I'm gone. Do what you have to. Don't wanna be that." He was cut off by a burning pain radiating outwards from his chest and he was unable to keep back the scream. He could vaguely hear Sam's concern as he doubled over, but the darkness of his mind was already blocking out everything else.

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Marching band camp is kind of all-consuming. I try. Here's an extra long and weird one to make up for it. Anyway, reviews would be fabulous. Ich liebe dich. **


	78. Running In The Shadows

Being pulled back into the recesses of his mind, Dean expected the worst. Of course, he couldn't be sure exactly what, seeing as he wasn't fully aware of everything he'd done, but he did expect something along the lines of Hell and torture and blood and flames. The first few memories matched his expectations, however, this one was different.

* * *

Dean found himself in the center of a small room that smelled strongly of salt and sulfur and rust and fear. The rust from the iron walls, the salt from the water surrounding them, the sulfur from him, and the fear from his brother. He sat in the crosshairs of five devil's traps and, as if that wasn't enough, a ring of symbols at his feet. Though he'd never show it, he felt almost painfully weak. Due to all of the sigils, the salt water stretching out endlessly around him made movement damn near impossible and the iron floor was starting to burn through his shoes.

"Plan B, great, he's doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"Leave us alone. Force us to talk out our issues. You really think I need to be watched? We're in the middle of the frickin' ocean, I can barely move with all the damn salt everywhere." He was angry at that damned angel for leaving them there. He'd rather not be forced to talk to his brother

"Well you've kind of got a reputation for escaping."

Kid had a point there. "Heh, I guess." Dean stared resentfully at his brother, sitting against the wall directly in front of him. This was his fault. All of it. If Sam had just done what he was told and let him go, they wouldn't be having this problem. They could have just parted and each gone on their merry way. But of course, Sam couldn't let it go. He just couldn't give up that hope that he could recover his brother somehow.

"Hey, lemme ask you something." Dean finally voiced the question that'd been nagging at him, "Why're you so... persistent? Why are you still trying at this? I don't wanna go back anymore, so why do you want it so bad?"

Sam nodded slightly when he responded, trying to convince himself as well. "Because you would've wanted it. If you were thinking straight, you would see what you're doing and want out."

The demon couldn't help but laugh at his stubborn ignorance. If he was 'thinking straight'. _Hah_. He was thinking just fine, he just wasn't thinking like a human. Of course he knew that his recent hobbies were _very_ wrong in a human's eyes. Hell, he even felt it in the back of his mind. The guilt and disgust at what he did. He knew what it was: that little human remnant that Sammy kept telling himself was still in there. He was trying to ignore it at all costs. He was a demon, damn it. He was going to act like it. "You mean Dean would have wanted it, right? Your brother, the human, wouldn't want to be this. You just don't get it, do you? How many times do I have to tell you: I'm not him anymore. I know exactly what I'm doing, I just exercise a little more freedom than most. I know what I told you, and it sure as hell wasn't to 'fix' me. I told you to kill me. If I were you, I would've taken that opportunity. Too late now."

"No. You're messed up and I can see that, but it doesn't mean you can't go back, Dean."

Messed up didn't even begin to describe it. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that." He switched his eyes to blue to hammer home the point. That blind hope disgusted him. He was _different_, damn it. Why couldn't Sam just accept that? "And I told you, I don't want to go back." He relaxed back into the chair and let his eyes fade beck to normal, "I'm having too much fun. And it only took nine hundred years in the pit for me to learn how to. I gotta say, this is a hell of a lot better than my life before, Dean's life."

"How's that?"

_Not ignorant_, he thought,_ just plain stupid_. "Wow, you must really be blind. I never had a life of my own. After mom died, it was never about me. But I guess you wouldn't see that, you got to have a life, go to college, have a girlfriend. But for me, it was always tag along on dad's crusade and take care of my baby brother. Now is it really that surprising that the mindless soldier turned into this? I get to do what I want now. I'm not worrying about anybody else. And you know what, it feels good."

The majority of Dean's abilities were locked away from him, but even so, he could smell the fear and pain radiating off his brother. He wanted so badly to believe that this demon was still Dean. "You spent your life saving people. You always liked hunting."

"I never had a choice," he spat back. "If you could choose, honestly, would you pick hunting?"

"I know what's out there and I know that I can save people from–"

"From things like me?" Dean interrupted with a grin. He wanted to get the point across that he was one of the things he used to hunt. He did understand Sam's view of all of this, knew the hatred and disgust hunters had towards anything evil. What Sam didn't know, however, was the hundreds of years of torture that had caused the change. If he did, maybe he'd see that after a while, it really was the only thing that made sense. "Reality check, Sammy, you can't save them all."

"Is that how you justify killing people?"

He actually thought guilt would work. _Adorable_. "I don't have to justify it. I'm a demon, I don't feel guilt. I just do it 'cause it's fun." He flashed his blue eyes briefly to emphasize his point. "How'd you know what I've been up to, anyway?"

"Well you know I've been looking for you, and you haven't exactly been discreet. Yeah, jumping from town to town and changing meat suits was effective, but same MO everywhere. Guy with freaky blue eyes leaves a bar with some girl later to be found cut up in some motel room. It's a pretty sloppy path. Maybe if you didn't want to be found, you shouldn't've flaunted the demon eyes so much. Ask any hunter about a blue-eyed demon and they most likely have a story. You've made yourself pretty famous."

Hearing all of it described was like being handed a trophy. Sam might not understand, but he was proud of his handiwork. "Well look at you. That's some pretty good hunting there, Sammy." He shrugged, "but I wasn't trying to hide, I got nothin' to hide from."

"You might wanna take a look at where you are one more time." _Smartass_. Dean could hear some sadness in Sam's voice when he spoke up again. "you might not want help, but you know what? I don't care what you want. Because it's not you I'm fighting for, it's Dean. And you were right, you're about the farthest thing from him."

That stung unexpectedly. It hit him with a physical pain. A pinprick at first, centered somewhere deep in his chest that quickly intensified into an inferno burning through him. It was excruciating for a brief second, then burned down into an almost pleasant warmth. With it came a clarity similar to when he'd turned, back in Hell all those years ago. It was clear now, if he wanted freedom, Sam had to die.

* * *

Dean was jerked back to that dark limbo in between consciousness and memories. He knew what was coming, he just hoped that come explanation came with it. He knew that each of the memories were shown to him for a reason; despite himself, he was curious about this one.

_**'Do you get it now? Do you understand what's happening?'**_

Dean was lacking the will and energy to actually keep up a conversation, so he settled for short answers. '_Not really.' _

_**'That was when you died. I won. Before that, I was in charge, but you were still fighting away like the broken little soldier you are. It was pretty much like this, actually. One of us in control, the other trying to be.' **_

_'Point?'_

**_'We went through nine hundred years of Hell, and that didn't even get rid of you. Just threw me into the mix. Sammy in danger, that put me in charge, but you were still there. Hell, even me killing all those innocent people to try to drive you away didn't work. But Sam giving up on us, that's what did it. When he accepted that _****Dean****_ was gone, that's when we really were. Hell, even you aren't close to what we used to be. You're just a survival mechanism from when I was put out of order.'_**

_**'**__And?' _

**_'That's what we're going to do. Make Sammy lose faith again. Maybe nothing will happen, maybe one of us will be left, maybe we'll just die altogether. Let the chips fall where they may. Sorry to say it, but Dean mock one, the original, the human, he isn't ever coming back, so let's see what twisted version will. Until then, we've got some time to kill. Sweet dreams.' _**

With that, the darkness faded into yet another memory. This time, Dean held no hope that he would ever wake up.


	79. To The Death

Once they got to Bobby's, Dean was promptly locked in the safe room. Sam was against it at first, but Bobby made the point that it'd be safer for everyone involved. Though the violence that came along with Dean's memories had died down quite a bit since they'd arrived, there was still the occasional electrical surge and sudden storm; the safe room would lock away any subconscious use of his powers. Dean would likely be safer in there anyway. He was causing quite a commotion and if any demons or god knows what else decided to come investigate, that'd be the best place for him.

Sam stayed in the basement just outside the room. It was hard to listen to Dean's continued pleas and obvious pain, but he felt that turning a blind eye would be even worse. Bobby claimed that he'd be looking into something to help, but Sam felt that he just wanted to leave them alone. He probably knew just as much as Sam in terms of how to deal with this. So he was left alone with his suffering brother, his only hope being that maybe he'd come out of it or maybe Balthazar would come back to lend a helping hand.

He tried praying. Constantly. At first to Balthazar, but it quickly became clear that he wouldn't be returning any time soon. Sam pushed aside the annoyance and slight anger at the angel's abandonment and tried his hardest not to lose hope. He went back to what he'd done before Balthazar showed up, before Dean showed up even, praying to anyone to please help. Please do something because he can't do anything. The problem was that either no one was listening or no one cared.

Sam left the basement briefly with the intention of grabbing another beer bottle to add to his rapidly growing collection. Bobby caught him at the top of the stairs.

"Sam, we need to talk about this."

"About what?" he asked tiredly, not at all in the mood to talk.

"You know what."

"We got nothing to talk about," he said, trying to shove past.

"Now stop bein a baby. Get in there and sit down." He pulled the bottle away and shoved Sam towards the cluttered living room. Sam did as he was told as Bobby disappeared into the kitchen briefly and returned with a large cup of black coffee. He set the coffee in front of Sam and pulled up a chair to sit across from him.

"Alright, this is starting to get a little ridiculous."

When Sam spoke, his words were slurred and his voice sad and defeated. "If you have an idea, go ahead and speak up. But truth is, I don't know what to do, you don't know what to do, and we're not gonna get any help here."

Bobby just looked at him with pity. He hated to see Sam like this, losing hope and slowly drinking himself dumb. But still, the hard truth had to come out sooner or later, and of course, he'd have to be the one to deliver it. the problem was how to do it gently. "I get how you're feelin here, I really do. When Dean died–"

"Don't say that," Sam interrupted, stony-faced, but sounding close to tears.

Bobby continued as if he hadn't heard, "when Dean died, I swear it was like you went with im. Didn't talk to me for the longest time, I was afraid you went and got yourself killed or did somethin stupid tryin to bring im back or get revenge. when ya finally came around, I thought it was over. But then he came back and that had to be the worst thing that coulda happened. 'Cause before then, I thought you were better, but that obsession with turnin him human was just as bad as tryin to bring him back. But I thought, 's not my place to tell you what to do. But now this is just gettin ridiculous."

"There's nothing I can do," he insisted.

"There is and you know it, you just won't face up to it."

"No. Nonono I-I can't. I won't."

"You're not doin him any favors here, Sam. You already tried bringin im back and it didn't work. At this point, keepin im alive is just plain cruel." Sam violently shook his head. "Look, if you don't, someone else is gonna have to. I don't wanna do it either, but what are our options here? Just let im suffer? It isn't fair to Dean, to his memory."

"Don't talk about him like he's already dead."

"I'm sorry, but he is. That's not him, I knew it the second I saw im. What happened to im was horrible, wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, but tryin to fix it was even worse. What's dead should stay dead, Sam. It's just how the world works."

Sam refused to say any more and Bobby eventually left him to it. There was no reasoning with him like this, so he'd wait for Sam to sober up and think it through before bringing it up again.

* * *

Sam eventually made his way back downstairs, feeling heavy with the option Bobby had presented. However hard it was to accept, he did have a point. Listening to Dean in the safe room, he heard more of the same: pleas for mercy, whimpers of pain. Perhaps it was cruel to put him through this, let him suffer through Hell a second time. Plus, who knew how he would be if he came out of it? _When_, Sam corrected himself, determined to at least pretend he still had hope. At any rate, Dean was currently going through the same Hell that had made him a demon in the first place, so who's to say he would still be sane by the time he came out of it? As much as Sam didn't want to kill his brother, the only worse thing he could imagine was if he went back to being _that_.

Sam moved his chair over from the table across the room to sit directly in front of the iron door separating them. Even if Dean wasn't aware of anything happening around him, Sam was not going to let him suffer alone. He owed him that much. He just sat in his chair and rest his head on his hands and thought about his options.

The answer came unexpectedly. From the other side of the door, he heard something different from the usual murmurs and pleas. He couldn't quite make it out the first time, but the second was clear.

_"Interficiat me."_

Mind still foggy, he had to think for a minute before realizing the meaning. When he did figure it out, he was somewhat shocked. The message was plain and simple: _"kill me."_ It wasn't directed at him, he told himself, of course it wasn't. It couldn't be. Dean had been out cold, dead to the world, for close to a day. Why would he wake up now and say something like that?

Latin, he realized. It was in Latin, just like every other plea and threat that came through. Of course he wasn't actually addressing Sam. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about the new development, however. Sure, Dean wasn't actually saying to do it, but it still made him think. The memories he was going through actually made him want to die, beg to be killed. He'd been through so much that he couldn't handle it anymore, just want it to be over. For Dean, that was an extreme most people wouldn't be able to imagine. Because he always had a reason to live, something to keep him going. Hell, apparently, had crushed that will.

With Balthazar MIA and Dean damn near comatose, the decision was all on Sam. Perhaps death at this point would be merciful.

**A/N: Woah updates. Short ones, but updates all the same. Reviews? I love you all.**


	80. Knight In Shining Armor

Dean was desperate. He was no longer able to stop the memories short, just suffer through. He caught the emptiness between two and managed to slip in a thought. _"Just stop. Just make it stop."_ He didn't intend it to sound as pitiful as it did.

**_"Aw what for? This was just starting to get fun,"_** his taunting voice replied.

_"Just for a minute. I don't care what happens to me, just let me talk to Sam."_

**_"Hmm, talking to yourself is one thing, but bargaining with yourself... careful there, people might start to think you're crazy."_**

_"Please."_

**_"And here I thought you were fighting. You weren't gonna let me win, right? What happened to that drive? I miss it. Of course, giving up isn't something we're usually too quick to do, is it? No, I know you better than that, this is a last resort. You wanna tell Sammy to gank us. Kill us both so I won't come out on top. You wanna sacrifice yourself for him, well isn't that just the Winchester Way? See, there's the downside to all those emotions, all that caring. You always end up putting others first. Where's the room for you, huh? If you let me out, I can show you what we really want and how to get it. It's real damn easy to be real damn happy if you just stop all that caring. You can have the world if you make people give it to you."_**

_"I don't care what you have to say. Let me go or I'll–"_

There was some mental equivalent to a laugh. Not so much the sound, but the feeling. **_"You'll what? Make me? Go ahead, try to fight to the top, I'm not holding you back. I'm not doing a damn thing."_**

Now, Dean was confused. If the demon wasn't stopping him, what was?

Sensing the confusion, the voice responded **_"you're weak. All that grief and guilt, it's weighing you down. Your problem is that you still have those human morals. You can't function knowing everything you did. Just let it go and you're home free. But somehow, I'm pretty sure you're not gonna wanna do that. Because then you'd be just like a demon, just like me, and you think you're too good for that. Not the great Dean Winchester, he could never be, how'd you put it, mindless, disgusting hellspawn. But then again, it is a way out. Starting to sound just as good now as it did way back when, isn't it?"_**

_"Never,"_ was all he could manage. Because, somewhere deep in the pit of his being, it was true. That mocking voice kept trying to pull him back into that darkness he'd been in as a demon, and truthfully, it _was_ starting to sound good. He was suddenly flooded with the memory of the light and carefree feeling that came along with the corruption, so much better than the horrible weight that was currently bearing down on him. It'd be easy too, just give in, slip away.

He roughly forced the thought aside. He was disgusted by the fact that, not only had he let it happen before, but was seriously considering it again. Even after being given this second chance, he was thinking of just giving up the fight. He couldn't even separate the blame from himself. The other voice may seem separate, but it _was_ him, an embodiment of his subconscious brought on by his own insanity. He was obviously insane, he acknowledged this, but it still didn't change the fact that he was having full, coherent conversations with his subconscious.

A _demon_ though. He had to keep that in mind: it wasn't just corrupt, it wasn't just evil, it was a _demon_. The physical embodiment of sin; the same thing that had killed his mother; killed his father; threw his potentially normal life into a tailspin when he was just four years old; caused his upbringing as a warrior; ultimately got him to Hell. And here he was seriously considering becoming such an abomination for a _second time_.

_"Never," _he repeated, more forcefully, putting his entire will behind the thought, all of the guilt and anger and grief and disgust. Never that. Never again.

**_"Shame,"_** was the only response before he was thrown back into reliving all nine hundred years of Hell.

* * *

Two full days, no angels, no help, no decision, no hope. Sam didn't leave the basement at all after Bobby's talk, not for food or drink or anything. He just kept to himself, sitting as close as he could to his brother's side, listening to his babble and imagining the torment. Halfheartedly praying for help, distractedly thinking through his options. Two options in total which boiled down pretty plainly: life or death. If Dean's current state could even be considered life.

There had been quite a few more conversations. Always Latin and usually pretty soft, but it was rather different from the usual so, not having much else to focus on, Sam tried to listen in. The dead language was spoken so casually and fluently that he had a hard time keeping up with translation; pronunciation was different than he was used to and there was quite a bit of slang he didn't recognize. Even so, he got the general idea. Full, two sided conversations, as if Dean was arguing with himself. There were two distinct voices. One was small and unsure, this one didn't have much to say, usually just short responses. The other, however, was stronger, teasing almost; this one did most of the talking. Each of the conversations had the same basic feel to them. They would reference events that had no obvious correlation aside from the fact that Dean was involved. Some, Sam recognized, some he didn't. The stronger voice would say something about how the other wouldn't win, the little voice tried to deny it. He heard his name a lot, 'Sammy' more often than 'Sam'. He wished he could follow closely enough to actually know what the argument was about, but it was just too difficult; even if he could keep up, half of it was too quiet to make out anyway.

All in all, the conversations were the most worrying and most disturbing. If having full, unconscious, Latin conversations with yourself wasn't a mark of insanity, he didn't know what was. The longer all of this went on, the more Sam was convinced that Dean was gone. How could anyone recover from something like this?

Still, killing Dean seemed too unreal. He couldn't quite grasp the possibility. Dean dead again. Actually final this time, no Heaven, no Hell, no hope of return. Just whatever awaited dead monsters. Even thinking of Dean as a demon, after all this time, seemed surreal. He couldn't get a firm grasp on anything anymore, life, death, time, hunting, demons, Bobby's basement, nothing. It all seemed to be slipping away, nothing was real anymore. Just numb. With this feeling of hopelessness, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Sam woke up to Dean's screams. Muffled, of course; even out cold, Dean still tried to hide his pain. Sam looked into the room to find his brother sitting on the ground against the opposite wall. He was curled in on himself and obviously in pain, hands clasped to his ears as if trying to block something out. Mixed in with the cries of pain, he was murmuring to himself unintelligibly. Despite the devil's trap, the single light in the room was swinging and flickering uncontrollably. It was just as bad as when he first lost it, maybe worse. Without thinking, Sam reached for the door.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice came from behind him. He recognized the voice as Balthazar's, but didn't believe it until he turned to find the angel casually leaning against a wall.

"You're back?"

"Obviously."

"Where've you been? We really could've used some help here."

"I've been out finding a way to help. I had some errands to run."

"So you can do something?"

"Something, yes."

The vagueness was starting to get on Sam's nerves. "Can you fix him?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Actually, I'm here on business."

"Business?"

"Heaven's business. This is much bigger than you now. I'm just here to do what I have to and make sure you don't get in the way."

"So what is it you have to do?"

"You have to understand, this isn't my choice and it isn't your place to interfere."

"What do you have to do," he repeated, starting to get nervous.

"Kill him," Balthazar responded bluntly.

Though it was far from what he wanted to hear, Sam wasn't all too shocked. He was, however, confused as to why whoever was in charge upstairs felt it necessary to send an angel to do the job. After all, Dean was a demon, but there were demons roaming around all over, why was he so special? "Why?" he asked.

He looked a bit surprised. "That's it? No fight, just why?"

"You heard me."

"You know how I said his soul was tainted?"

"Yeah."

"Well I looked into it, watched through everything that happened since he got out. Really, I should have seen it before, it was obvious. Repairing his vessel, quick status in Hell, rapid development of abilities, far stronger than he should be."

It wasn't as obvious to Sam. "And?"

"From the second he turned, Lucifer had him marked as a Knight of Hell."

He wasn't familiar with the title, but it sounded ominous. And if it had to do with the devil, it couldn't be good. "What's that mean?"

"Knights of Hell are pretty much the demonic equivalent to archangels: special powers, held in high favor in Hell, impossible to kill, second to Lucifer himself. Usually very old demons, among the first, but I suppose there can be exceptions."

Balthazar was right, this was a lot bigger than Sam had thought. He'd just wanted his brother back, but really, Dean had been gone for hundreds of years by the time they were reunited. Sam felt the loss and emptiness at the realization, but pushed it down in favor of curiosity. "Wait, I thought you were here to kill him. But if he is a Knight of Hell, or whatever, isn't it impossible?"

"He's marked to be, but officially, he isn't. Had to prove himself or something. At least, I hope I'm not too late."

Sam just nodded and thought about this. By now, he was too numb to be too surprised by any of the information, just took it as fact. For what seemed like an eternity, he'd been mulling over whether or not he'd have to kill his brother, but now it seemed he had no say in the decision. This was a matter of angels and demons; as a human, it wasn't his place to interfere. Yes, it would mean losing Dean for good, but he'd been slowly bringing himself to accept this as an inevitability. It would at least end the suffering that Sam had allowed to go on for this long. Anyway, if it wasn't finished, what would become of Dean? He'd be a Knight of Hell, according to Balthazar. What exactly that entailed was unclear, but he was sure that Dean wouldn't want it. He'd want to do whatever was necessary to avoid it. So that was what Sam had to do, seeing as Dean wasn't quite present to make a decision. It wasn't really Sam's decision to make either, but if he pretended like it was a choice, it'd be easier to accept. He nodded slowly. "Go ahead then. Do what you have to."

**A/N: Ahhhh drama. Review, perhaps? I love you all.**


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